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THOMAS C.UPHAM, P.D. 



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A BOOK FOR THE HOME. 



4MERICAI COTTAGE LIFE; 

% Series of '^ocms 

ILLUSTRATIVE OF AMERICAN SCENERY, AND OF THE 

ASSOCIATIONS, FEELINGS, AND EMPLOYMENTS OF 

THE AMERICAN COTTAGER AND FARMER ; 



DESIGNED TO SHOW 



THE VALUE 1*^ RELIGION 

IN AMERICAN HOMES- 

By rev. THOMAS C. UPHAM, D.D. 




WITH SIX STEEL ENG-KAVINGS. 



PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

28 Corn HILL, Boston. 



^'SC;^/: 






Entered, according' to Act of Congress, in the year 1S50, by 

THOMAS C. UPHAM, 

In the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court of the District of Maine. 



COPYRIGHT TRANSFERRED TO THE 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 



B:- r.ram Smith 
Mar-h ir... 1534 



PREFACE 



In early life I was led to form an acquaintance with 
those classes of persons, whose occupations and feelings 
are attempted to be described in the following poems. 
My youthful associations are with the lakes, the rivers, 
and the mountains of New Hampshire ; and with - the 
hardy and industrious people who dwell among them. 
Mingling for successive years at their firesides, sharing in 
their sympathies, aifected by the constant disclosure of a 
humble and devout piety, it seemed to me that American 
Cottage Life, in some respects, unlike that of any other 
country, possessed great attractions for the heart as well 
as the imagination. No pen, so far as I was acquainted, 
had undertaken to describe it. Aware of my own incom- 
petency to describe it suitably, it still appeared to me, 
that I might properly make an attempt, however imperfect 
it might be, in the hopes that others might follow, and do 
full justice to a subject so interesting. 

If these poems are ever read to any great extent, they 
will be read by those, whose life they dehneate. And as 
it is religious feeling, which, more than anything else, 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

lias made the American farmer and cottager what they 
are, I have introduced the religious sonnets and hymns, 
in the hopes of encouraging and strengthening this feel- 
ing. It is the Bible, accompanied with prayer, whi')h 
gives the American farmer his consistency of life, his 
strength of purpose, his strong and serene alliance with 
truth, freedom, and humanity. Like the furrow which 
he turns, he may be said to be nourished in the rains and 
sunshine of an overruling Providence, and amid the 
wonderful works of nature to be trained up for the 
acknowledgment and the worship of the God of nature. 

The first editions of this work were published with 
reluctance. It was no small trial of mind, to appear 
before the public, without some obvious and adequate 
reason, in this species of writing. But this unpleasant 
feeling has been relieved in a considerable degree, in 
consequence of the interest with which the work seems to 
be received, among the class of people for which it was 
particularly designed. It will be one of the great conso- 
lations of my life, if I shall find that I have contributed 
something to their happiness. 

THOMAS C. UPHAM. 

Brunswick, Maine. 



CONTENTS. 



AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

PACE 

The Farmer's Fireside, 13 

The Home in the Mountains, 23 

The Winter Evening, 31 

The Cottage Revisited, 41 

The Widow and her Children 83 

The Snow-Storm, 90 

Thanksgiving Day, 96 

D.ays of Youth, Part First, ,139 

Days of Youth, Part Second, 154 

The Sabbath, 230 

The Cottage Marriage, 238 

The Old House, 244 

BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 

Death of Colonel Hayne, 51 

Yanko, the Noble Negro, 59 

Dark-rolling Connecticut, 05 

The Closing Year 66 

The Sick Child, 67 

The AVounded Bird, 08 

The Hunters, 69 

'T is many a Year, 70 

The Landscape, 71 

Sing that Song again, 72 

Maid of Suncook, 73 

The Bower, 75 

The Deserted Island 75 



VIII CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Daughters of the Sun, 76 

Happiness of United Minds, 77 

Adieu ! and oh, what Tongue can tell, 78 

Cocheco, 79 

Sing on, Sweet Bird ! I love thy Sti-ain, 80 

The Exile's Song, 81 

Why does my Heart so oft, 82 

COTTAGE HTMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 

Penitence, 106 

0, what a Fearful Thing it is, 107 

The Light is rising o'er the Sky, 108 

Deliverance in Christ, 109 

God the Unfailing Source of Love, .109 

Encouragement, 110 

Bird of the Heavens, go, Ill 

Think not that the Blest, Ill 

Jehovah, Sovereign of my Heart, 112 

0, could I rule my erring Thought, 113 

Man's Spirit hath an Upward Look, 113 

The Secret Sign, 114 

Christ our Refuge, 115 

Thou Giver of the Rising Light, 116 

Desire for Heaven, 117 

Consolation in Sorrow, 117 

Wilt Thou, oh my Father, leave me, 118 

They say their Path with Flowers is sti'own, 119 

Enmity of the Heart, 120 

Jesus has gone on High, 120 

The Song of the Angels, 121 

If there e'er was a Time 122 

When first I started on my Way, 123 

Vanity of Earthly Expectations, 123 

Earth sent her Streams from Rock and Hill, 124 

Entire Consecration, 125 

Resource in Teniptiition, 125 

Sorrow the Nuise of Love, 126 

I know, oh God, that Dangers near, 127 

Power of Holy Love 128 



CONTEXTS. IX 

PAGB 

The Thorny Diadem 129 

Thou chidest, but thou dost not know, 129 

How Happy is the peaceful Breast, 130 

Love ! Thou Day-star of my Heart, 131 

Triumph in Death, 132 

Quietness of Spirit reflected in the Life, 132 

To Freedom from the Earliest Days, 133 

A little Bird I am, 134 

The True Rest, 135 

Remembrance in Prayer, 136 

In Prison, when the early Saints, 136 

The Mystic Dove, 137 

The Divine Life, 138 

SCKIPTtJRE SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 

TheLiberty of the Gospel, 170 

Necessity of Divine Illumination, 171 

Restoration to the Divine Image, 172 

The Blessed Name of Christ, 173 

True Rectitude, J 74 

The Millennial Day, 175 

The Sovereign Will, 176 

He standeth at the Door, 177 

Confidence in God in Bereavements, . 178 

Meekness of Spirit, .......... ^ 179 

Consolation in the Gospel, 180 

The Place of Refuge 181 

The Hidden Life, 182 

Help in the Wilderness 183 

Support in Afliiction, 184 

Christian Benevolence, 185 

The Book of Judgment, 186 

The Source of Happiness in the Soul, 187 

Living near to Christ, 188 

The Glimpse of Heaven, 189 

The Last Trump, 190 

The True Ground of Joy, 191 

The Physician of the Mind, 192 

Sorrow for Sin, 193 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGR 

Christ's Yoke easy, I'i4 

I shall yet praise Him, 195 

A Divided Mind, 196 

Submission in Sickness, 197 

Light in Goshen, 198 

The Voyage, 199 

The Grave of the Beautiful, 200 

The Christian Pilgrim, 201 

Despise not the Beginnings, 202 

God no Respecter of Persons, 203 

Parental Bereavement, 204 

I would not always live, 205 

Mystery of the New Birth 206 

Constancy, 207 

Power of Faith, 208 

The Fountain of Jerusalem, 209 

Uncertainty of Earthly Objects, 210 

The Resurrection, 211 

Winter, 212 

Persecution, 213 

The Good Shepherd, 2U 

The Church, 215 

The Returning Dove, 216 

Protection in Danger, 217 

Humility, 218 

Secret Praj-er, 219 

Spiritual Freedom, ' 220 

God angry with Rebellious Nations, 221 

Religious Recollections, 222 

The Christian's Confidence in God, 223 

I will not Blame thy Tears, 224 

The "Wreck, 225 

Christ's Intercession, 226 

Rejoicing in God, 227 

The Martyrs 228 

Heaven 22'' 



AMERICAN COTTAGl^ LIFE. 



AMERICAN COTTAGE LIEE. 



THE FARMER'S FIRESIDE. 

[It may be proper to say here, that this poem, as well as some of 
those which follow it, was written in early life. The Old French War, 
as it was termed, which has now almost passed away from the recol- 
lections of men, was often spoken of at that jjeriod. The writer was 
acquainted with a number of old men who had a share in that bloody 
contest. This accounts for the reference made to it.] 



The moving accident is not my tr;«le ; 

To freeze the blood I have no ready arts ; 
'T is my delight, alone in summer shade, 

To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. 

Hart-leap Welt, IVurdxunrth 



Happy the man, not doomed afar to roam. 
In distant lands, beneath a foreign sky, 
Who hath a humble and secluded home. 
Bathed by the little brook that prattles by. 
With trees begirt, and birds that warble nigh. 
He, as he sitteth at his cottage gate. 
Breathes not for earthly wealth the troubled sigh ; 
Nor doth he envy whom the world calls great, 
Encircled with the pomp which guards their haughty state 



14 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFK. 



The king upon a throne a sceptre wields, 
The cotter for a sceptre wields a hoe ; 
But kings have griefs, which he, who tills the fields 
In humble honesty, doth never know. 
He, who through life in quietness would go. 
Far from the noisy world his way will keep, 
Beside the streams in solitude that flow, 
Contented with his little flock of sheep, 
Nor seek in glory's paths, her fading wreaths to reap. 

III. 

Far to the woodland haunts I turn mine eye, 
Nor longer in the troubled world remain, 
Where I have known no sweets of liberty. 
And seeming joy hath turned to real pain. 
Welcome to wood, to mountain, and to plain, 
To silent streams, and forests reaching wide ! 
But chiefly guide my weary step again 
To youth's rude scenes, Cocheco's gushing tide. 
And that old cottage, once that graced its verdant side. 



Meekly arose its moss-besprinkled wall, 
Where, broad and green, the elm majestic bore 
Its branches o'er it, overshadowing all 
The space around its hospitable door; 
Within, might one behold its little store. 
The plates well ranged, the shelves that neatly graced, 
The chairs of oak upon the sanded floor. 
The wheel industrious in its corner placed, 
The clock, "that hourlv told how life runs on to waste." 



THE farmer's fireside. 15 

V. 

Once more the pensive eve, v^rith silent tread, 
Returns to hush the noisy world to peace ; 
Once more the farmer seeks his humble shed, 
Glad from his daily toil to gain release. 
His task accomplished, and his heart at ease. 
And hails betimes the fireside of his cot ; 
And there, as from the hills the shades increase, 
" The world forgetting, by the world forgot," 
He tastes the simple joys, that soothe his quiet lot. 



His patient herd, ere set the beams of day, 
With lowings oft alarmed the neighboring plain ; 
Now, penned within the well-known bars, they pay 
Their milky tribute to his pails again. 
His flocks upon the distant hill remain, 
Their tinkling bells sound in the passing wind ; 
Though small the limits of his rude domain, 
Yet fails he not, with unambitious mind. 
From field and lowing herd a due supply to tind. 



To greet him home the crackling fagots burn ; 
The housewife, busy round the blazing fire, 
Cheers with her smiles her husband's loved return. 
His children climb around their honored sire, 
And to his fond caress once more aspire ; 
Inquisitive, they ask of each far field. 
Whether its hills than their own cliffs are higher ? 
What wonders there of cascade are revealed ? 
What flowers enchanting bloom, what gifts the mountains 
yield ? 



16 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



The smiling father in his turn inquires 
What sights of joy hath bright-eyed Mary seen ? 
The kind parental look her voice inspires, 
And she doth tell, where o'er their plat of green 
The elm erects its sun-excluding screen, 
She watched the lambs, and saw them at their play ; 
Nor had they long at their rude gambols been. 
Ere two small birds, perched on a little spray, 
Proud of their yellow wings, poured forth their joyous lay, 

IX. 

Her father's knee his Mary soon surmounts, 
Around his neck her tender arms she throws ; 
From her bright eyes, as from celestial founts, 
The laughing light through locks of darkness glows. . 
Nor she alone ; he on them all bestows 
Alike his kisses, and alike his tears. 
Who bloomed, (on autumn's bosom like the rose, 
'Mid cold and storm its loveliness that rears,) 
To cheer his riper age, and deck his vale of years. 



To him, how blessed the daylight's closing gleam, 
The hour that ushers bliss supremely dear. 
When bright his hearth expands its evening beam. 
And needed rest succeeds to'toil severe ! 
The cricket chirps his humble home to cheer ; 
The cheerful blaze illumes the white-washed wall ; 
Bowed on the hearth the wearied dog sleeps neir, 
The playful kitten round and round the ball 
[Jrges with active sport, unmindfully of all. 



THE farmer's fireside. 17 



The children, too, disposed to childish mirth, 
Their busy laugh and prattle do not spare. 
Such sounds of joy, such sports around his hearth, 
Scenes which each eve returning doth repair. 
Charm from the farmer's breast corroding care. 
And banish it to " blank oblivion foul." 
Hark! loud and startling through the misty air. 
The prowling wolf resumes his nightly howl. 
And from the hollow oak is heard the muffled owl. 



How oft I sought that distant, lonely cot ! 
A grandam dwelt there when my days were young, 
And there, when Christmas logs blazed red and hot, 
And wintry blasts their nightly descant sung. 
My soul attentive on her lips has hung, 
As spoke she oft of dreadful deeds of yore, 
How savage men with savage fury sprung 
Upon the lonely cot, and tides of gore 
Were shed, as when the clouds their vernal treasures pour. 



Her hands were withered as an autumn's leaf, 
Her cheeks were like a parched and shrivelled scroll ; 
In truth, she 'd seen, though life at best be brief, 
The wheels of eighty years their circuits roll. 
And friends and kindred reach their earthly goal. 
She sat beside her busy wheel to spin. 
And, as the hours at evening onward stole, 
We teased her oft some story to begin. 
A.t length she slowly moved her old, projecting chin. 
2* 



13 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIKE. 



Of other scenes and other years she told, 
Of Hopehood's wars and Paugus' frantic yell , 
And as her lips those bloody deeds unfold, 
And as, with up-turned gaze, we heard her tell. 
Unconsciously the crystal tear-drops fell; 
For from our infancy we 'd heard and read 
Of chiefs from Canada, and knew full well 
Of Sachem's wrath, that feasted on the dead, 
And shook the haughty plume, and arm with life-blMod red. 



O, who can tell to what a storm of grief, 
In those sad days, our fathers' hearts were bared I 
They were no common sorrows, few and brief, 
For capture wasted what the sword had spared. 
Yet strong in faith, for each event prepared. 
To live or die, as God should order how. 
The griefs and dangers of their lot they dared. 
They walked in joy and glory with the plough. 
And at the throne of God did morn and evening bow. 



Deem it not strange such recollections fill 
With feelings new and strong the youthful mind ; 
They make e'en seared and aged bosoms thrill, 
And mourn the woes that fall on human kind. 
One evening to that cot my steps inclined, — 
The giant elm-tree waved before its door. 
The frowning clouds were driven before the wind. 
The distant cataract was heard to roar, 
And pale the tranquil moon as wave on ocean's shore. 



THE FARMER S FIRESIDE. 



19 



There, too, a soldier bent his nightly way, 
('T was long ago,) — one of " the Old French War," 
Who carried proof of fierce and bloody fray 
Upon his visage, marked with seam and scar ; 
Weary his step, for he had wandered far, 
The locks upon his silvered head were few, 
His eye was like the winter's clouded star. 
But much that eye had seen, and much he knew. 
Though now his frame was bent, and towards the grave he 
drew. 

XVIII. 

The sturdy staff that in his hand he bore 
Was parted from an oak, whose branches spread 
Near wild Cocheco's oft remembered roar ; 
And turning to the cottage door his tread, 
Though old and weary, well his purpose sped. 
The farmer hailed him to his lone abode. 
Gave him a portion of his cup and bread. 
And soon, forgetful of the tedious road. 
How fields were lost and won, the aged soldier showed. 

XIX. 

He told the deeds of Abraham's blood-red plain, 
Where, as their standards flashed upon the gale. 
The rival warriors fell like summer's rain. 
And shouts were heard, triumphant songs, and wail , 
Not unto him a visionary tale ; 
For where the wide St. Lawrence winds his way. 
He fought with Wolfe, called from his native vale, 
And dark Piscatawa's glades of green array. 
To cross the mountains blue to distant Canada. 



20 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Full well he knew the cruelties of strife, 
For, as he trod, with blood-red foot, the field, 
He saw full many in the morn of life, 
Their parents' hope, to death and darkness sealed. 
Alas ! what woes that dreadful day revealed I 
The day when fell the chivalrous Montcalm. 
And then more loud the trump its war-note pealed ; 
And (withered be the hand that wrought such harm !) 
Soon Wolfe sunk bleeding low, nerveless his mighty arm. 

XXI. 

Thus did the bowed old man, with hoary head, 
Relate the sad and stormy times of yore, 
When jealous France and England madly shed 
Amid the forests of this western shore, 
As it were worthless dust, their bosom's gore. 
So prompt are men, from pride or lust of gain, 
Whate'er they have, still seeking after more. 
To scofTat love, and justice to profane. 
And with a brother's blood a brother's hand to stain. 

XXII. 

But though such tales were lieard with many a tear. 
And memory, fancy, feeling all possessed. 
Yet soon, in truth, the gayety and cheer 
That ever animate the youthful breast. 
By solemn thoughts unconquered, unsuppressed, 
Awoke in sports anew; the slipper's sound. 
By youth and village maiden ne'er at rest, 
Was driven through the circle round and round, 
And every cheek did smile, and every heart did bound. 



THE farmer's fireside. 21 

XXIII. 

E'en the old soldier felt his bosom thrill 
With memory of scenes that erst he knew; 
His mind the visions of his childhood fill, 
And as around the room the children flew 
At blind-man's buff, he would have joined them too : 
But age to youth will not wing back its flight ; 
To sit and smile was all that he could do, 
While he, who blinded was, to left and right 
Pursued the flying group, and caught them as he might. 

XXIV. 

At blind-man's buff who hath not often played, 
At pledges oft the moments to beguile. 
When sober evening lends her peaceful shade. 
When heart replies to heart, and smile to smile ? 
The hearth is burdened with the oaken pile. 
Such as New England's forests well can spare ; 
Still flies the slipper round ; — a few, meanwhile, 
The warriors of the checker-board prepare. 
The garrulous old folk draw round the fire the chair. 

XXV. 

But now the moon, through parted clouds revealed, 
Is climbing far the arches of the sky ; 
The farmer's cot, the cultivated field. 
The brook, the plain, the mountain soaring high, 
Beneath her beams in peaceful silence lie. 
The dog upon the ground hath lain his breast, 
Stilled is his howl, and sealed his restless eye ; 
The sturdy wood-cutter hath gone to rest ; 
The flock is on the hill, the bird is on the nest. 



22 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXVI. 



Farewell, thou cottage ! for 't is late at eve ; 
Farewell, ye scenes to memory ever dear ! 
Now eld and youth and maiden take their leave, 
With kindly wishes and adieu sincere. 
In separate ways and groups they disappear ; 
Some through yon scattered woods that skirt the moor, 
Some to yon hills their frowning tops that rear ; 
And by ihe fireside of the cot once more 
Devotion lifts her voice, as she was wont of yore. 

XXVII. 

The thoughtful farmer reads the Sacred Book, 
Then, with the wife and children of his heart, 
With mind serene, and reverential look. 
He humbly kneels, as is the Christian's part, 
And worships Thee, our Father, Thee, who art 
The good man's hope, the poor man's only stay ; 
Who hast a balm for sorrow's keenest dart, 
A smile for those to thee who humbly pray, 
Which, like the morning sun, drives every cloud away. 

XXVIII. 

Thou Lord of heaven above and earth below. 
Our maker and our guide, our hope, our all ! 
Be thou the farmer's friend. In want and woe, 
Teach him to look to thee, on thee to call; 
Nor let his steps in error's pathway fall. 
With him preserve his loved, his native land; 
A cloud be round her, and a fiery wall ; 
In innocence and honor let her stand ; 
And centuries yet to come, oh, hold her in thy hand ! 



THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

[A few miles back of the early residence of the writer, is a range of 
beautiful mountains. They are gradual in their ascent, and in some 
places cultivated to the top. They are inhabited by an industrious 
and intelligent, and, for the most part, a religious people. These 
mountains were the scene of the writer's youthful visits ; and it was 
his good fortune to become acquainted with some of the inhabitants. It 
is the object of the following poem to embody some of the pleasing 
impressions to which that acquaintance gave rise.] 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short but simple annals of the poor. 

Gray. 



With many a busy scene familiar grown, 
Ye who have lived amid the city's strife, 
To rugged hills and verdant woods unknown, 
Unknown to rural joys and cottage life. 
Its hardy toil, its bloom inspired by health, 
Its warmth of friendship and its guileless ways : — 
O, learn that there's a treasure more than wealth, 
An honor higher far than human praise ; — 
Nor deem the lesson vain, though read in simple lays. 



24 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Haste, from the mart of busy commerce flee, 
And for a time its tumult leave behind. 
When birds are singing in the summer's tree, 
Or Autumn comes his golden sheaves to bind. 
Go forth amid the forest and the rocks. 
And there untarnished truth and virtue trace ; 
As thou shalt see the shepherd with his flocks. 
Or scan, as I do now, the ploughman's race, 
Or, at the cottage hearth, shalt mingle face to face. 

in. 

'T was thus I onward fared, one summer's day, 
Where rising hills in native grandeur spread ; 
Lonely and far the path ascending lay. 
That upward to the farmer's dwelling led. 
The merry birds poured forth their various song ; 
The squirrel on the hazel took his seat ; 
The bubbling brooks danced rapidly along, 
And filled the forest with their echoes sweet, 
As through the woods I went, my rural friend to meet. 

IV. 

Nor was the meeting void of friendship's truth, 
Repressed by selfishness, or marred by fears ; 
For we had known each other in our youth. 
And youthful love had grown with riper years. 
His home was in the mountains. Far from noise, 
And undisturbed by grandeur's gaudy scene. 
He, with his wife and children, had his joys, 
Calm as their mountain sunset's ray serene, 
Although, perchance, at times, some clouds may intervene. 



THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 



His bliss was not in idleness, 'tis true. 
(On that dull tree true pleasure will not grow.) 
The farmer ever had his work to do, 
And wanton days and slothful did not know. 
The sun, that doth no sluggard's part fulfil, 
What time it decks the sky with earliest red, 
And scales with dewy step the eastern hill, 
Ne'er found him useless in the loiterer's bed, 
But forth, with men and boys, where toil and duty led. 

VI. 

Uprose the sun, and " uprose Emily ;" 
Thus English Chaucer sung in days of old. 
Uprose the sun, nor was less pleased to see 
The farmer's daughters, with his eye of gold. 
The morning maids were at their milking pail ; 
And soon the cows, obedient to their word, 
Regained, in lengthened row, the distant vale ; 
And all around, to higher anthems stirred, 
From glittering bush and tree, sung loud the early bird. 

VII. 

The maids, if right I saw, were well content. 
Nor envied aught the sport and splendor found 
Among the gay, the proud, the opulent. 
Far other cares they knew. The daily round 
Of household duties occupied theii thought; 
The churn, the wheel, and to the parent pair, 
By Nature's strong, unerring instinct taught, 
They fondly gave their homage and their care. 
Such were their useful toils, such humble joys they share. 
3 



26 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

VIII. 

One ruling wish they had. It was to spend 
Upon their native hills their peaceful days, 
Where they had known the neighbor and the friend, 
A parent's fondness, and a brother's praise. 
" Still to our hearts our native hills are dear," 
Thus sung they oft by murmuring brook and tree. 
Where, with their gossip maids, they sit and hear, 
At sultry noon, or starlight shining free, 
Of all their sports and toils, the humble history. 

IX. 

Those, who are pent in sylvan scenes apart, 
Whene'er they meet, have ever much to say ; 
Their words bear not the stamp of polished art. 
Nor are they such as higher minds might sway. 
But though their speech is not of things that thrill, 
And bring sad shadows o'er the throbbing brow, 
'T is such as may a cotter's fancy fill. 
Though but the story of his faithful plough, 
Or of his petted lamb, or luckless, wandering cow. 



Sometimes the sheep, that stray, ne'er come again ; 
Sometimes the fox invades the garden's bound ; 
Or sudden winds have vexed the standing grain, 
Or blown, alas ! the village steeple down. 
But all such things shall pass, as they have come, 
And every shadow from the memory flee, 
When Lucy's brother from the town comes home, 
And Jeannie's lad returns from o'er the sea. 
To rest from toil awhile, in mountain liberty. 




MART AT THE COTTAGE DOOR. 



THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 27 



'T is ever thus. The ties of friend and kin 
Are found most strong and nnost with pleasure rife, 
Among the dwellings of the poor, and in 
The unambitious walks of rural life. 
With woods around them, waters at their feet. 
With flowers beneath, and fragrance in the air, 
'T is not in vain that they each other meet ; 
Not one that has a pleasure or a care, 
But calls a kindred heart, that joy or grief to share. 

XII. 

The restless steers are fastened to the wain ; 
(I marked them ere they went their sounding way; 
The early ditcher seeks the fields again, 
With shovel glancing in the morning ray. 
With bag and barley from the threshing-floor. 
The slow-paced horse expands his loaded side. 
The feathered group surround the cottage door. 
And Mary, with her basin well supplied, 
Forth from her little hand their portion doth divide. 



Far in the noisy woods the bleating sheep 
Ascend the rocks, and breathe the upland air. 
The fair-haired William there his watch doth keep, 
Too young, as yet, a higher charge to share. 
Nor outward sights alone refresh the eye, 
Nor outward labors to the heart appeal ; 
The elder Jane her constant task doth ply, 
Within the cottage-walls, with cheerful zeal. 
And, singing rural songs, still turns her murmuring wheel. 



28 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Such are the scenes that mountain homes unfold ; 
The history such of those who till the land. 
Forth in the fields the cotter's self behold 
Behind his plough, with persevering hand. 
Nor deem it a disgrace the plough to guide : 
Did not great Cincinnatus till the ground, 
He who the hostile Volsci scattered wide ? 
The seer Elisha at the plough was found ; 
The plough, that reverence claims the mighty world around. 



I venerate the man the plough w^ho speeds, 
The independent tiller of the soil, 
Who, boasting not of vainly glorious deeds, 
Yet scorns to live by other people's toil. 
Though all unnoticed in ambition's strife, 
Which, with its noisy war, doth wide resound. 
There 's yet a pleasure in the ploughman's life, 
A bliss attendant on the cultured ground. 
Which kings and Caesars seek, but never yet have found. 

XVI. 

And then at eve behold him at his hearth, 
Planning the duties of the coming morn ; 
How one shall wield the axe or spade the earth. 
Another's task to till the tender corn : 
Around him sit the peaceful household train ; 
And he, by Nature's right, their guide and head. 
Than this, what juster power, what higher reign ? 
The lads marked well whate'er the father said, 
By his experience taught, and by his wisdom led. 



THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 29 



And if at times the children leave their home, 
In village near some little wealth to earn, 
The heart, un travelled, hath no power to roam. 
Nor long the time which sees them all return. 
Fair shines their cottage to the mental sight. 
And pleasures blossom in their mountain air; 
Scarce does the week resign its parting light. 
When, with a love unchanged, they forth repair, 
And hail their happy hearth, its wonted blessings share. 

xvin. 

And thus in solitude, yet not alone. 
They have their joys and duties day by day ; 
To them unchanging Honor's path is known. 
Though shut from noisy Glory's towering way. 
Their feelings deep ; if pensive, yet sincere ; 
And when they meet, poured through each other's mind, 
In answering smiles, or sympathizing tear ; 
With power too great for outward forms to bind, 
And pure as they are strong, though not by art refined. 

XIX. 

And on some pleasant days, in shaded walks, 
They wander far, when hills and woods are green ; 
Around them is the voice of joyfal flocks. 
And flowers and sounding waters grace the scene. 
Yes, there are those, the pure and high of soul, 
Whose passions, by a Holy Power subdued, 
Are won to virtue's wise and just control; 
And such, though deemed in outward manners rude. 
Shall drink, from Nature's works, the beautiful and good. 
3# 



30 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



And Nature is to them a living thing, 

Food to the heart and beauty to the eye ; 

The hill, the mossy tree, the bubbling spring. 

The bud, the flower, the autumn's mellow sky, 
■ Awake the moral thought and sympathy. 

The bird goes singing up, its joy revealing; 

The gilded insect passes buzzing by ; 

The quiet bee, o'er beds of flowerets stealing ; 
All share their joyful eye, all wake their better feeling. 

XXI. 

Those, whom religious life hath given to know 
The right, the pure, the honest, and the fair, 
Have a new power. In all above, below. 
In heaven and earth, the waters and the air, 
There 's a new glow of beauty. God 's revea-led ; 
The high, entranced eye of Faith can see, 
(No longer by the earth's dim shadows sealed,) 
The bright effulgence of the Deity, 
The glory now that is, the greater that shall be. 

XXII. 

That glory shines in every planet's ray ; 
'T is sounding forth in every blessed rill; 
Upon the winged winds it makes its way, 
O'er blooming valley, and o'er frowning hill; 
And sends its light from all creation round. 
In rural scenes, from polished arts afar, 
Where Faith in all its holy power is found. 
It shines with naught its lustre that may mar. 
Enthroned in life and heart, the favorite guiding star. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 

[The Winter Evening constitutes in the farmer's life, more truly 
and emphatically than in the life of any other class of persons, a 
period by itself, — a select season, a portion of time known and recog- 
nized by its distinctive traits, and blessed with its peculiar pleasures. 
It is a season of the year when there is, to a considerable extent, a 
relaxation from that constant toil which occujjies him in the more 
genial months. He is at home, in the bosom of his family; and in 
the exercise and interchange of domestic feelings enjoys a degree of 
humble happiness, which the wealthy and luxurious have but little 
conception of. We have here, therefore, a distinct and interesting 
subject, which poetry, coming from a heart that can understand and 
fully sympathize with rural life, may properly and successfully adoj * 
as its own.] 



The summer's fading flowers have passed away, 
And wintry snows invest the frozen ground ; 
And now, when closes fast the setting day, 
The silent stars resume their nightly round ; 
And bright, emerging from her depths profound, 
The placid moon adorns the central sky. 
Oh, Winter Eve ! The Muse at length shall sound. 
Long wont on other themes her skill to try, 
Her notes, as well she may, in fitting praise of thee. 



32 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



The winds are hushed, and all around is calm ; 
Scarce on the cold blue heavens is seen a cloud ; 
Nor sudden rains, nor storms, with rude alarm, 
Come forth with meteor glooms the earth to shroud. 
Prone in their quiet folds the sheep are bowed ; 
The teamster drives abroad ; and o'er the way, 
With clear, shrill bells, resounding oft and loud, 
The well- wrapped traveller guides his rapid sleigh, 
And merry cracks his whip, or sings his rustic lay. 

m. 

And see ! Along the glassy river's face. 
On skates swift-gliding, or perchance without, 
'The village lads each other gayly chase, 
And rising loud, the oft repeated shout 
Of those who tire their boon companions out. 
Or pass them in the race, bursts to the sky. 
Anon, while distant whirls the giddy rout. 
Some neighbor lads their wits at jesting try ; 
Some tell a jocund tale, some laugh out merrily. 

IV. 

E'en winter has its charms. How pure the glow 
That decks the pensive brow of evening's queen ! 
The spotless hills, adorned in robes of snow, 
Ascend in light and loveliness serene. 
Far in the tranquil distance may be seen 
The hoary forests and the mountain pile. 
Shut to the door! The outer air is keen ; 
And 'neath the cottage roof repose awhile, 
Where, round its joyous hearth, the happy inmates smile. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 33 



V. 



The fire is blazing witli tlie craclding trees, 
Upon the walls the dancing shadows play; 
Without, is heard the sudden winter breeze. 
And then more close they gird the hearth's bright ray. 
The aged father 's there. His locks of gray. 
In many a twine, are round his shoulders spread ; 
His eye beams not, as in his earlier day. 
When strength and buoyant youth inspired his tread ; 
Y^et pleasant are the joys his age doth round him shed. 



For oft to fondly listening ears he traced 
How, in his youth, in distant lands and new. 
He smote the soil, the rocks and woods displaced, 
Until the desert to a garden grew. 
And much he told, (for much forsooth he knew,) 
How best to rear the sheep or lowing herd, 
Of what in spring and autumn months to do ; 
And to his serious mind it oft occurred. 
To mingle, as he spake, the monitory word. 

VII. 

His prompt and careful wife seemed " made of fire," 
For round and round she plied her rapid wheel ; 
She knew not at her daily task to tire, 
And scarce the witheiinsf touch of aq-e did feel. 
While others pressed the couch, with wakeful zeal, 
Soon as the early note of chanticleer. 
Heard from the neighboring barn, renewed its peal, 
She called aloud ; the starting maidens hear, 
And hasten to their work, ere morning gleams appear. 



34 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



A dweller here, the sturdy ditcher Tims, 
True to his spade, though crowned with tresses gray; 
He on the settle throws his weary limbs, 
(As well he might, who toilsome spends the day,) 
And bids in rustic dreams his cares away. 
And there was one, — he was an orphan lad, — 
Who came at first in tears and mean array, 
But generous friendship made his bosom glad. 
And here Dick toiled by day, and here his dwelling had. 

IX. 

Nor these alone were there ; a numerous race, 
To filial love and deeds of reverence true. 
Graced from their early days their dwelling-place. 
And humble arts and household duties knew. 
And often, when their daily task was through. 
And evening's shadows darkened in the air. 
Around the hearth the sons and daughters drew; 
Of looms and distaffs these, (whate'er their care,) 
Those spake of huntings, wilds, and mountains drear and 
bare. 



If angry storms have o'er the mountains broke, 
And deluged wide the fields with sudden rain ; 
If lightnings, redly winged, have rent the oak. 
That mighty stood, the monarch of the plain ; 
If fierce the sullen wolf hath come again. 
With bloody thoughts, and ready to destroy ; 
These, too, (nor deem their humble converse vain,) 
Recurring oft, may well their thoughts employ, 
And fill the social hours with sorrow or with joy. 



THK WINTER EVENING. lif) 



Perhaps they listen to some ancient tale, 
(What land cannot its legends rude recall ?) 
Which tells of other days of grief and wail, 
And sudden bids the generous tear-drop fall. 
Perchance more recent themes their minds enthrall. 
Themes that are sad with deep domestic woe ; 
As when but lately, though adorned with all 
That worth could give, or beauty's charms bestow. 
The mountain maid they loved, was in the grave laid low. 



Hark ! scarcely noticed, doth the noiseless door, 
Unfolding soft, invite a stranger in ; 
A daughter of the oft-neglected poor. 
But she hath virtues that exalt and win. 
They grasp her hand, as if she were their kin. 
Their hearts, their hopes congenial with her own. 
Soon other joys and other tales begin ; 
The rural news is round the hearth made known ; 
Anon the darker scenes, which memory drew, are flown. 



And well the maiden merited their praise. 
As pleased they listened to her simple tone ; 
Far in the wilds, 't is true, she spent her days, 
Accomplished well in rural arts alone. 
But none the less her sylvan beauty shone, 
And guileless honor crowned her virgin heart. 
Ah, little to the busy world are known 
The virtue and the bliss that dwell apart. 
Far from the crowded hall, and place of polished art. 



36 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XIV. 



Dick in his corner- sits with wondering gaze ; 
Attentive he, though seldom heard to speak ; 
Upon his hand his lazy chin he stays, 
Distending wide his plump and steadfast cheek. 
Despite his quiet aspect, rude yet meek, 
He loves the song and merry tale to hear; 
And, slow the pleasant couch of rest to seek, 
Though not unused to vi^earying toil severe, 
He sometimes loudly laughs, and sometimes sheds the tear. 



Placed in the great arm-chair, the grandam sitting, 
In decent cap, with spectacles astride, 
Old as she is, she still is at her knitting ; 
And, though by age and many sorrows tried. 
Is ever last to lay her work aside. 
The little Emma, bright as flowers of spring, 
And noisy, too, as birds in summer's pride, 
Yields to the common joy her offering. 
The fagots blaze anew, the bubbling kettles sing. 

XVI. 

And oft the evening's merry sports go round 
In games, repeated long with fervent will. 
The simple board with autumn's fruits is crowned ; 
Perchance some vagrant minstrel adds his skill. 
Meantime, (who else the vacant rack shall fill?) 
Doth honest Dick go forth the herd to feed ; 
And whistling loud, with Rover at his heel. 
Who, faithful, follows at his master's need, 
He thinks of stalking ghosts, or some mysterious deed. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 37 



And now, when skies are clear and toils are done, 
(And may that ancient custom long abide !) 
With ioyous hearts, united all as one. 
In ready "^leigh, the youth and maidens glide. 
They seek the plains; they climb the hillock's side ; 
Well pleased, they praise the splendors of the night. 
The stars, that give the galaxy its pride, 
The overhanging cliffs in robes of white, 
The chaste, unclouded moon, that sheds o'er all her light. 



The cracking thong, the tramp, the bells' rude chime, 
The owl have frightened from his leafless bower. 
Where, hooting oft at midnight's " witching time," 
His song has added terror to that hour. 
They pass the forests wide, that proudly tower ; 
The wild deer lifts his arching head to hear. 
High on his cliffs. Dreading the hunter's power, 
The hare starts suddenly away with fear. 
Then crouching to the ground, erects his sentinel ear 



Far other was the night, whose whirlwinds loud 
Tossed through the troubled air the restless snow • 
Darkly on high went forth the angry cloud. 
And breaking forests uttered sounds of woe. 
Remote, alone, with footsteps faint and slow, 
That night a hunter did his way pursue. 
Cold o'er his track, the stormy tempests blow; 
No cot was near, his strength that might renew; 
His hands to ice congealed ; his cheeks to marble grew 
4 



38 AMERICAN COTTAGK LIFE. 



Sad Victim of the storm and weary way, 
He bowed his head, like one that soon shall die; 
For life was breaking from its house of clay, 
And light was stealing from his glassy eye. 
And yet he had a home, a wife, and nigh 
His cheerful hearth, were lovely children twain. 
No more their heads shall on his bosom lie, 
No more he '11 press their ruddy lips again, 
Cold is the hunter's breast upon the distant plain. 

XXI. 

But whither bends the Muse her wayward flight. 
Indulging thus in solemn minstrelsy? 
'T is true, when winter spreads o'er earth its blight, 
And rends its bloom and fruit from field and tree. 
That songs of joy may uncongenial be; 
Such as would suit, when birds are on the wing, 
And leaf and flower are shining laughingly. 
•Vnd yet, though sad, she will not cease to sing, 
fJut ever, full of life, her various tribute bring. 

XXII. 

Then rouse the fire, — the moon is watching yet, — 
And chanticleer his midnight cry delays. 
Though others, pleased with later times, forget, 
Old Tims, at least, shall tell of other days. 
'T is pleasant, seated round the evening blaze, 
(n Fancy's eye, the wonders to review 
Of chieftains of the lost, the native race. 
And memory yet her efforts shall renew, 
And Passaconaway * sketch with tints and honors due. 

* Sep the note, which belongs here, on the next page. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 



39 



Son of the forest ! Child of deathless fame ! 
If deeds of death a deathless name can win ; 
Who bore aloft, where'er in wrath he came, 
The club that oft had made the battle thin, 
And fearless raised the war-cry's dreadful din. 
Around his painted neck terrific hung, 
With dangling- claws, a broad and shaggy skin ; 
Victorious trophies o'er his bosom swung, 
And oft the sachem danced, and oft the sachem sung. 

XXIV. 

Strange man ! A tenant of the dusky wood. 
The cave, the mountain, and the tangled glen, 
He roused the hissing serpent, and pursued 
The angry bear, and slew him in his den. 
O'er craggy cliffs, the dread of other men, 
The eagle's solitary home he sought, 
And sternly tamed his mighty wing, and then 
O'ertook the tall gray moose, as quick as thought, 
And then the mountain cat he chased, and chasing caught. 

* This is the name of a distinguished Indian sachem, residing at 
the place known by the Indian name of Penacook, whose dominions, 
chiefly upon the banks of the Merrimack and Piscatawa rivers, were 
very extensive. " He excelled the other sachems," says Belknap, in 
his history of New Hampshire, vol. i., ch. 5, " jn sagacity, duplicity, 
and moderation ; but his principal qualification was his skill in some 
of the secret operations of nature, which gave him the reputation of a 
sorcerer, and extended his fame and influence among all the neighbor- 
ing tribes. They believed that it was in his power to make water 
burn, and trees dance, and to metamorphose himself into a flame ; 
that in winter he could raise a green leaf from the ashes of a dry one, 
and a living serpent from the skin of one that was dead." 



40 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

XXV. 

And often o'er 'Seogee's* thick-ribbed ice, ' 

With fiercely howling wolves, trained three and three. 
High seated on a sledge, made in a trice. 
Of bones and skins and fitly shapen tree. 
He " rode sublime," and sung right joUily. 
And once upon a car of living fire. 
The dreadful Indian shook with fear to see, 
The King of Penacook, his chief, his sire, 
Borne flaming up towards heaven, than any mountain 
higher. 

XXVI. 

Thus ever hath the Muse a mingled note. 
Such as all places and all times will suit. 
In summer's winds her numbers gently float, 
Breathed soft as sound of sighing lover's lute. 
All gentleness, with stormy passions mute. 
But when strong winter comes with maddening strife, 
Aroused, she lays aside her shepherd's flute. 
And takes the shrilling trump, the martial fife, 
And sounds the stormy notes of wild, mysterious life. 

XXVII. 

Those youthful days are gone ! And with them fled 
The scenes, the sports, that soothed my simple heart ; 
Yet still those scenes their genial ray shall shed, 
To charm the careless hour, to soothe the smart 
Of disappointment's sting and sorrow's dart. 
Oft will I muse, and shed the willmg tear. 
O'er the loved plains whence fortune bade me part, 
Recall the happy faces once so dear. 
Recall the Winter Eve, and all its social cheer. 

* The Lake Witinipiseogee, in New Hampshire. 



THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 

[It is well known that every year a large number of persons, 
especially from the agricultural class, leave the northern states of the 
lepublic, for the purpose of mating a settlement in the new and more 
fertile lands of the west. They seldom, however, lose that strong 
attachment which they had previously cherished for the place of their 
nativity. It is the object of the following poem to describe the feel- 
ings of one of this class of persons, at his return, after many years, to 
his father's house.] 



Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent ; 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health and peace and sweet content. 

Burns. 



When one returneth from a distant land, 
Where he hath been in pilgrimage afar, 
And seeks once more with wandering foot to stand 
Beneath the brightness of his country's star, 
It is with beating heart and joyful eyes 
He views the long-remembered scenes again, 
The mountains far, ascending to the skies, 
The verdant hills more near, the flowering plain. 
The willow-shaded stream, the fields of golden grain. 
4^ 



42 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



The cottage maids their spinning-wheel delay, 
And from the window look with well-pleased eye ; 
And gray-haired men, that sit beside the way, 
Arise to bless him as he passes by. 
He finds, as round he casts his gladdened look, 
The friendly " Welcome home " in everything, — 
In ancient elms, and in the well-known brook. 
In vines that o'er the talking waters cling. 
And from the singing birds, that clap the joyful wing. 

III. 

I, too, have been a pilgrim. On the shore, 
Where wide Ohio flows, I cast my lot; 
But while I trimmed my vine and plucked my store, 
My childhood's dwelling-place was ne'er forgot. 
I ever deemed the time would come, at last. 
Though cast upon a far and venturous track, 
To take my staff, as in the days long past. 
And to my father's cottage travel back. 
Where yet he lives and toils, upon the Merrimack.* 



* This beautiful river, (the Merrimack,) one of the principal in New 
England, has its rise among the mountains and lakes of New Hamp- 
shire, and, after a long and winding course, empties into the ocean at 
Newburyport, in Massachusetts. Through its whole length its shores 
are occupied by a hardy and industrious people, chiefly of the agri- 
cultural class. The population has become so dense, however, that 
frequently the younger members of families find it convenient to emi- 
grate to the western parts of the Union. But here, as in other similar 
instances, the residence of their fathers, on this deligliiful stream, is 
vtill the home of their liearts. 



THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 43 



That time hath come. With grateful heart I hear 
The sounding river with its waters wide; 
Sweetly its heavy murmur strikes mine ear, 
Borne through the oaks that crown its verdant side. 
The golden day reveals its parting glow, 
And where yon window, with its flickering light. 
Dim through the interposing woods doth show. 
That cluster round the gently rising height. 
At last my father's home repays my straining sight. 

V. 

The watchful dog patrols the narrow track 
That joins the household to the public road ; 
He barks aloud, then playful hastens back, 
As if to guide me to that loved abode. 
The patient ox comes weary from the hill ; 
The tinkling sheep-fold bell is sounding near; 
Sudden I hear the nightly whippoorwill ; 
The cheerful cottage window shines more clear; 
And mingling sounds, well known, rejoice my wakeful ear. 

VI. 

And see ! what venerable form is there ? 
'T is he, my father's self, surviving yet. 
Before his cottage door, with temples bare. 
He thoughtful marks the sun's resplendent set. 
With beating heart his doubting eye I claimed ; 
He gave a startled, momentary view ; 
But ere his faltering tongue his wanderer named, 
My arms, impatient, round his neck I threw, 
Nor could the gushing tear and voice of joy subdue. 



44 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



VII. 



And thou, he said, hast found me, ere I die; 
Welcome to your old father's arms, my son ! 
White is my head, and dim my aged eye ; 
But thou hast cheered me ere my race is run. 
Then quickly, with a heart relieved from care, 
And vigorous step, he hastened on before ; 
His aged tresses swept the evening air ; 
And as he reached his hand and oped the door, 
He bade me welcome back to friends and home once more. 

VIII. 

That moment was beyond the poet's pen, 
A moment of the heart, and graven there. 
There sat my father, most revered of men ; 
There sat my mother in her spacious chair. 
Bright beamed the fire, and round its cheerful blaze 
Two little brothers, full of noisy joy, 
('Twas thus with me in other distant days,) 
Recalled the time when I, too, was a boy, 
And loved in childish sports the moments to employ. 

IX. 

And as I scanned each object o'er and o'er, 
And marked with care the venerable place, 
In wall and window, beam and sanded floor, 
The signs and records of the past I trace. 
They seemed like old companions, and mine eyes, 
Like one in search of treasures under ground, 
Who sods, and rocks, and gaping crevice tries, 
Renewed their searching glances round and round. 
Till all the past revived in mingling sight and sound. 



THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 45 



The same capacious hearth, expanding wide, 
The spacious kettle on its length of crane. 
The settle, stationed at the chimney side. 
Just as in other times, they all remain. 
Substantial all, as they were wont to be. 
Affecting sight ! To me they all were dear, 
Since all were consecrate in memory. 
The massy oaken chair is standing near ; 
And pleased the ticking of the eight-day clock I hear. 

XI. 

My mother had unnumbered things to say, 
And, as she spoke, alternate wept and smiled ; 
Changed was her face, her scattered locks were gray. 
But still she loved, the same, her pilgrim child. 
Well pleased she saw, while often to the heart 
Their hopeless blightings time and distance bring, 
The love of childhood's home doth ne'er depart, 
But like some flower, which blooms with endless spring, 
Repels the autumn's frost, the winter's withering. 

XII. 

Slowly have passed the long, the twenty years, 
Since first I parted from this social fire ; 
Sad was the hour, and many were the tears. 
But hope was high, and strength of purpose higher. 
But here, at last, I stand once more, and find 
Old objects faithful to their ancient place ; 
And where the form is changed, unchanged the mind. 
If lapse of years hath plucked some outward grace. 
Yet could it not the heart, the fount of love, displa. e. 



46 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



But who is this, with form so tall and fair, 
A woman grown, and yet in beauty's prime. 
With kindling eye, and darkly flowing hair? 
The same, the cherished one, who many a time 
I carried in mine arms, and loved so much ; 
Who went with me o'er hill and ridgy steep, 
(I fondly thought there was no other such,) 
To call the cows, and tend the gentle sheep, 
And ever at my side did, prattling, love to keep. 



Loved sister Mary ! give me one caress, 
Sacred to memory and other years I 
The generous maid cannot her soul repress, 
But sought my arms, and bathed her face in tears. 
Nor deem it wrong, if Heaven may aught bestow. 
To pray for blessings on that radiant head. 
For me, alas ! such bliss I ne'er shall know, 
As when abroad her childish steps I led. 
Amid the "vernal year," or blooms that summer shed. 



Swift spread the news of my unlocked return. 
And called with busy haste the neighbors in ; 
They grasp my hand, and eagerly would learn 
What I have seen, and where so long have been. 
Some were young girls, to woman's beauty grown ; 
Some were old men, who looked no older now ; 
Some were young lads, whom at the school I 'd known, 
But now erect, with manhood's ample brow, 
They bore the sinewy arm. that rules the spade and ploi'gh. 



THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 47 



XVI. 



if they of distant scenes desired to lenrn, 
And bent with eager gaze my tale to hear, 
l.'too, with heart as eager, asked, in turn. 
Of scenes that nearer lay, but doubly dear. 
Full many were the thoughts that filled my mind, 
Of sylvan sights, that once delighted me ; 
Nor was the heartfelt pleasure small to find, 
Of hills and brooks, of fields and favorite tree, 
So closely like the past the present history. 

XVII. 

Still flowed my loved, my native stream ; and o'er 
Its solitary path hung arching still 
The same luxuriant vine. The beech still bore 
Its tempting nuts, where I was wont to fill 
IVly eager hands, when, at the sun's decline, 
I trod the vales, the errant flocks to call. 
Still built the crov\r upon the ancient pine; 
And where the oak o'erspread the waterfall. 
The squirrel watched his hoard, and kept his airy hall. 



And oft I asked, with sympathy sincere, 
Who yet were living, who had sunk to rest ? 
Whom fortune in her smiles had come to cheer, 
Or deep in poverty and grief depressed ? 
Where were the lads, whose pleasures, ever new, 
At early eve resounded long and loud ? 
And where the men, so gravely stern and trus. 
Strong in their aged locks, the fields that ploughed, 
f^hough now, perchance, gone hence, or sorrowfully bowed 



48 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



The sturdy miller, had he still his jest, 
As rough and honest as in days ot yore ? 
And poor, decrepit Jenks, among the rest, 
Did he still beg his bread from door to door ? 
And she, with scrutinizing features old, 
That sought into the maiden's palm to pry, 
Hath she her last prophetic legend told ? 
Thus went inquiry round, " in converse high," 
And heart leaped forth to heart, and kindling eye to eye. 

XX. 

And now the eve was far advanced and dim. 
And closing round the fire, as in my youth, 
We reverently sung the Evening Hymn, 
And then my father read the Word of Truth. 
The sight of that old Bible moved my heart. 
And stirred anew the scarcely sleeping tears. 
From childhood, till the morn that saw me part, 
I ever knew it, clasped, and dark with years, 
At morn and eve brought forth, to wake our hopes and 
fears. 

XXI. 

And then he offered up the evening prayer, 
Poured from a humble, reverential breast; 
Not the mere show of truth and love was there, — 
The heart acknowledged what the lips expressed. 
He uttered thanks, that, ere his days were passed, 
He saw, save one that mouldered in the earth, 
(Too bright that loved one's joyful beam to last,) 
His scattered children gathered to his hearth. 
Thus God his people loves, nor scorns their humble worth. 



THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 49 



XXII. 



There are some men that make a scoff at prayer, 
At early morn, or at the close of day. 
Ah, little do they know how grief and care 
Before true supplication melt away. 
How pleasant 't is, when sorrows pierce the heart. 
To tell them to our heavenly Father's ear ! 
He plucks with gentle hand the hostile dart. 
And, even when he looks with frown severe, 
Is ever prompt to bend, his children's griefs to hear. 

XXIII. 

At morning's light I held my pensive track 
Where scattered elms and mourning willows grew, 
Along the deeply-sounding Merrimack. 
A little hillock met my anxious view ; 
'T was my loved Lucy's grave, my sister's grave, 
Her grassy turf and monumental stone. 
Naught but the sympathizing woods and wave 
Beheld my bitter grief, and heard my moan : 
'T was good to shed the tear ; 't was good to be alone. 

XXIV. 

How oft around the hearth, the eve before, 
I cast my eyes, but saw no Lucy near ! 
She was not named, lest naming should restore 
The mournful memory, the bitter tear. 
She was the sister next to me in age. 
Companion of my walks, with me she took. 
Along the hills, her summer pilgrimage. 
Or climbed the rocks, or sought the shaded brook, 
That in its mirror bright gave back her maiden look. 
5 



50 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

XXV. 

Together to the distant school we went, 
And when the snows perplexed the doubtful way, 
The helping hand to guide her forth I lent, 
Well pleased my skill and courage to display. 
And often, with a kind solicitude, 
When weary I returned from plough or spade. 
She wiped my heated brow, and brought my food, 
And, in her smiles and sylvan grace arrayed. 
More than a brother's care, a brother's love repaid. 



Mary and Lucy ! Those were household names, 
That messages to joyous fancy brought. 
And urged upon my heart their sacred claims, 
Whatever lands my wandering footsteps sought. 
They were my only sisters. One is gone ; 
And though a sister lives to bless me yet. 
That other star, which o'er my pathway shone, 
Beneath the ocean wave its ray is set, 
But never shall this heart, this mourning heart, forget. 



BALLADS AND SONGS 
FOE THE COTTAGE. 



DEATH OF COLONEL HAYNE. 

[Colonel Isaac Hayne, of South Carolina, was a valuable and distin- 
guished officer of the Revolution. He was taken prisoner liy the Brit- 
ish, under the command of Lord Rawdon; and, though greit interest 
was made in his behalf, both by Englishmen and Americans, he wafe 
executed as a rebel. His wife had died but a short time before. His 
eldest son, a boy of thirteen, was permitted to stay with his f itlier in 
the prison; but he was so shocked and overcome at the execution as 
to become insane. — See the Life of Marion, and Thacher's Military 
Journal.] 



I. 

Sadly and slow the mourners came 

Through Charleston's streets, with bleeding heart 
And breathed their hate on Rawdon's name, 

Who acted such a cruel part. 

Lord Rawdon came from England old, 
Renowned for skill and courage true ; 

And oft in onset fierce and bold 
Americans his veng-eancn knew. 



52 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

The fearless Hayne was one of those 
Whom in the field of death he took, 

Where bands with bands in battle closed, 
And spear to spear defiance shook. 

Soon as the captured Hayne drew near, 
Lord Rawdon looked with scornful eye 

And said, Thou rebel, thou art here. 
Upon the gallows' tree to die ! 

Then Colonel Hayne w'th boldness said, 
It matters not, my lord, to me ; 

I'd rather mingle with the dead. 
Than slave to any man to be. 

The feeble body thou canst bind, 

And draw the life-blood from the vein ; 

But there 's defiance in the mind, 
The bounding spirit knows no chain. 

Lord Rawdon shook his plumage high, 
And half unsheathed his angry sword ; 

And swore in wrath, Thou soon shalt die, 
If there is truth in Rawdon's word. 

If men will not their king obey, 

But set themselves against his power, 

Their life itself the crime shall pay, 
And they shall rue the 'venging hour. 

Again the soldier answer made. 
And said, It matters not to me ; 

Of foul dishonor I'm afraid. 

But fear not death, my lord, nor thee 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 53 

I 'd rather be the sightless mole, 

And in the dust and ashes mine, 
Than stoop to tyranny's control, 

Or ever bend to thee or thine. 



II. 

Down in a dungeon's dark retreat 
The brave American was cast ; 

And round his hands, and round his feet, 
Were made the links of iron fast. 

And with him there his eldest boy 
An inmate of the cell remained ; 

His father viewed him once with joy, 
But now the sight his bosom pained. 

For well he knew what deep distress. 
In this dark world of sin and strife. 

Too oft befalls the fatherless. 
Thrown early on the sea of life. 

The boy clung round his father's neck; 

It was a time his love to try ; 
He wept, as though his heart would break, 

And said, his father must not die. 

I saw, said he, the winding sheet. 
That robed my mother's pallid clay; 

I saw the men, with slow-paced feet, 
That sadly bore her far away. 

5* 



')4 AMERICAN COTl'AGE LIFK. 

Aud as the bell, with heavy fong-ue, 
Filled with her death the listening air, 

Deep to my heart its accents rung, 
And moved anew the anguish there. 

With faltering tongue, before she died. 
She said, " My Charles, I leave you, dear 

And as she spoke, she strove to hide 
The grief that shone in many a tear. 

"I leave you, (and may God be kind,) 
With one a constant friend who '11 be ; 

Charles ! in your father you will find 
A friend, as he has been to me." 

That mother, to my infant sight. 

Far back as memory's step can trace, 

Rose, like an angel, clothed in light, 
And shone o'er all my early race. 

But she hath gone ; her light hath fled ; 

And can her parting words be true, 
If you shall seek that narrow bed, 

And I must bid farewell to you. 

Around his father's veteran neck 
He threw his little arms again ; 

While, trickling o'er his youthful cheek, 
The tears his faded beauty stain. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 55 



III. 

My child, my child ! said Colonel Hayne, 
Think not I do not deeply feel ; 

Thy griefs are like the clanking chain, 
And pierce me as the foeman's steel. 

But when our griefs and duty meet, 
There is one course for me, for all, — 

To trample sorrow under feet, 
And stand erect at honor's call. 

But there is One, who knows our need, 
Nor claims what man cannot fulfil ; 

'T is ours his Providence to read. 
And bow submissive to his will. 

Repose, my child, your hopes in God ; 

Make him your counsellor and friend; 
He blesses, when he lifts the rod. 

And oft in good our troubles end. 

And while on him for aid you call, 
Fear not, but all your strength renew; 

For there are others yet so small. 
That they must look for help to you. 

Yet scarcely old enough to know 

That they nor father have nor mother. 

Watch over them, and ever show 
The care, the kindness, of a brother. 



56 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



IV. 

Two coursers at the dungeon meet, 
And black were they as raven's wing ; 

They smite the earth with pawing feet, 
And high the dust around them fling. 

And from the grates, the iron grates, 
The brave American looked through ; 

And on those steeds, the coal-black mates. 
The ministers of vengeance knew. 

To friends and foes farewell he bade, 
Who mourned alike o'er one so brave ; 

Upon his son his hand he laid, 

And sad his parting blessing gave. 

Then blew the trumpet loud and long, 

Then wide the dungeon doors were flung; 

And Colonel Hayne went through the throng. 
Upon the gallows to be hung. 

The steeds pressed heavily the ground, 
The soldiers marched with solemn tread ; 

The trumpets pealed their thrilling sound, 
The muffled drums beat dull and dread. 

But Colonel Hayne showed no dismay. 
No panic blanched his manly cheek ; 

Though multitudes, that thronged his way, 
In sighs and tears their sorrows speak. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOK THE COTTAGE. 57 

Unmoved, he reached the place of death; 

Unmoved, he trod the scaffold high ; 
For life he knew was useless breath, 

Without the sweets of liberty. 

But ere he died, the heart-felt prayer, 

Poured for his native land, he gave. 
That God would shield her with his care, 

And in the hour of darkness save. 

'T is done I He gives his last embrace. 

And, in the twinkling of an eye, 
He, who was swift in freedom's race. 

Hung black and moveless in the sky. 



V. 

I marked a boy pass through the street. 
With garments rude, dishevelled hair ; 

He walked the earth with wandering feet. 
And with a wild and maniac air. 

He said but little ; oft he stood, 

When gained the sun his noon-day height, 
And fixed, when in his frantic mood. 

Upon its beams his staring sight. 

I asked what I his name should call. 
And how that one, so young as he, 

So early in his life should fall 
To such extreme of misery. 



58 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Alas ! he was his father's pride, 
Nor less he loved that father well ; 

He saw him when he, struggling, died ; 
He shrieked, and tottering reason fell. 

And, from that dark, distracting day, 
Wild horrors in his bosom reign ; 

His face is marked with sad disniay ; 
'T is Charles, the son of Colonel Hayne. 



VI. 

These are thy fearful scenes, oh War ! 

These are the trophies thou dost bring ; 
How many pleasures thou dost mar ! 

How many bosoms thou dost wring ! 

A despot's heart is in thine arm. 
Tyrannic power mvokes thy hate, 

To scatter wide thy dread alarm, 
And leave the just man desolate. 

The son and father thou dost sever, 
The husband from the wife dost part ; 

And sendest wretchedness forever 
O'er ruined home and bleeding heart. 



YANKO, THE NOBLE NEGRO. 

[The incidents which are the foundation of the following stanzas are 
matters of fact, and not mere poetical fiction. A few years since, two 
children were left by an English gentleman on board a vessel, in the 
care of a negro, who belonged to his family. His object in leaving 
them was merely to make a short visit to another vessel, in the expect- 
ation of returning very soon. In the mean time a storm arose, and 
the vessel, in which the children were, was wrecked. The children, 
however, were saved through the disinterested kindness of the negro, 
who, in order that room might be made for them in the boat which 
conveyed the survivors, willingly and cheerfully remained on the 
wreck, and perished. Some notices of this affecting story may be 
found in Roberts' Memoirs of Mrs. Hannah More.] 



THE FATHER. 



Yanko ! We leave the ship to-day : 
We give our children to your care ; 

While o'er the sea's unruffled way 
To yonder vessel we repair. 



60 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

See how she strikes the gazer's eye, 
With towering mast and canvas wide ! 

I know her gallant company; 

One hour will bring us to her side. 

And though the feast and song may flow, 
As there our early friends we hail. 

The sunset with its parting glow 
Shall brighten our returning sail. 

THE MOTHER. 

Yanko ! To my loved boys be kind ; 

My thread of life to theirs is bound ; 
If they should suffer, I should find 

In my own soul the rankling wound. 

They long thy faithfulness have known ; 

We only ask thee now to prove, 
What thou in other times hast shown. 

That thou dost hold them in thy love. 

Our boat will urge its joyful track 
Over the sea's unruffled plain ; 

But soon to speed its journey back, 
And bring us to the boys again. 

THE CHILDREN. 

O, mother, yield not thus to fear, 

When we are absent from your view 

The hours, with faithful Yanko near, 
With sport and joy are ever new. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOK THE COTTAGE. 61 

Around the ship he guides our feet, 

And shows the mast, the ropes, the sail ; 

Or, seeking out some quiet seat. 
Relates the sailor's wondrous tale. 

THE NKGRO. 

Master and Mistress ! I will take 

Care of my little masters here ; 
If they were hurt, my heart would break ; 

I love them too ; ye need not fear. 

I feel their sorrows, and am sad, 

If but a swelling tear I see ; 
And not a pleasure makes them glad, 

But brings its happiness to me. 

I will not say what I would do. 

To save them from the slightest smart ; 

Fearless I make appeal to you ; 

They have their image in my heart. 

II. 

'T was thus the parting parents sought 

The noble ship, that waiting lay ; 
And as they joyful went, they thought 

Ere long to urge their homeward way. 

Some natural fears disturbed their mind ; 

But still they knew the negro's heart. 
And doubted not, that one so kind 

Would act the honorable part. 
6 



62 AMERICAN CUTTAGK LIFE. 

Meantime a sudden storm arose, 

And wrapped the sea in deepest black ; 

In foaming piles the ocean flows, 

And lightnings cleave their angry track. 

The vessel, which so late they left, 
Was dashed in fierceness to and fro ; 

Until, of sail and mast bereft. 
She settled gradually low. 

Then there were shrieks and agony ; 

The boat was hoisted ; in it fast 
The striving crew plunged hastily. 

And Yanko and the boys came last. 

And, what was rending to the heart, 
The boatmen hesitate to take them ; 

And make all ready to depart, 

And to the raging sea forsake them. 

The children, at the negro's side. 
Looked up to see what he would do, 

And in the tear he could not hide 
The fulness of his friendship knew. 

For then he felt the inward strife, 

The grief which generous bosoms feel, 

And gladly would have yielded life. 
To save the boys he loved so well. 

The boatmen eagerly he prayed, 

That they the little boys would take, 

And save them in their youth arrayed. 
And save them for their parents' sake. 




YANKO ALONE ON THE WRECK. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 63 
III. 

Then rose the master of the boat, 

Which scarce sustained the whehriing tide, 

And grief his hardy bosom smote, 
As thus to Yanko he replied : 

Whate'er I can I '11 gladly do, 

But if they enter, it will be, 
That then no place will be for you, 

And you must perish in the sea. 

Well, Yanko said, it matters not ; 

No worthless fear my breast annoys ; 
On such as I ne'er spend a thought ; 

Let Yanko perish, — take the boys. 

To them shall life its joys unfold ; 

The parent heart is bound to theirs; 
But Yanko, when in death he 's cold, 

Has none his destiny that shares. 

He spoke, and placed within the boat 
The children to his charge consigned; 

The little bark was soon afloat. 
But noble Yanko staid behind. 

The boys for sorrow could not speak. 
But tears and sobs their anguish tell, 

As Yanko, on the sinking deck. 
Repeated loud his long farewell. 

The negro stood alone. His eye 
Raised upward to the Lord of light ; 



64 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

The world's last look was passing by, 
And vast Eternity in sight. 

'T was but a moment. Quick the wave 
Rushed deeply o'er its sinking prize; 

And swept his body to its grave, 
And gave his spirit to the skies. 

IV. 

This is the story, sad but true, 
Showing a negro's noble feeling. 

Reader! It has a word for you, 
Unto your sympathies appealing. 

There are some men who scorning say 
The negroes are a lower race. 

Did Yanko's generous deed betray 
A lower, an ignoble place ? 

Where'er the sun the world doth bless, 
Is there a white man, that doth bear 

A soul with which in nobleness 

Poor Yanko's heart will not compare ' 

Judge not of virtue by a name, 
Nor think to read it on the skin ; 

Honor in black and white 's the same, 
The stamp of glory is within. 

Whate'er his color, man is man, 
A negro's heart like any other; 

And Heaven, in its capacious plan, 
Bids us to treat him as a brother. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 65 



DARK-ROLLLNG CONNECTICUT. 

[The writer spent a number of the early years of his life in the 
vicinity of the Connecticut. The following stanzas commemorate the 
feelings inspired by the natural scenery of that noble river, and by the 
social attractions connected with it.] 

O, TELL me no more of the blisses prevailing 
In the tapestried halls of the noble and great ! 

O, tell me no more of the joys never failing, 

That are deemed at the feet of the wealthy to wait ! 

For dearer than riches or power are the mountains, 
The hills and the vales, to remembrance allied, 

The murmur of winds, and the riishing of fountains 
That haste to Connecticut's dark-rolling tide. 

Dark-rolling Connecticut ! Often recalling 

The days and the years that I spent on thy shore, 

I start at the tears, as, unconsciously falling, 

They tell me those days shall be present no more. 

'T was summer. In brightness the wild-flow'rs were shining, 
And loud sung the beautiful birds in the trees ; — 

In the heat of the noon, in their shadows reclining, 
I watched thy broad waters that curled to the breeze. 

And when the cold winter, with wild stormy weather. 
Round the hearths of thy homes, at the closing of day, 

Collected thy sons and thy daughters together, 
How pleasantly passed the long evenings away ! 

Remembrance the joy of those moments shall cherish, 
Though quickly they faded, though long they have past, 

Nor e'er from the depths of my heart shall they perish, 
As long as a throb in that bosom shall last. 
6* 



66 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

And I think, when the moment shall come to depart, 
'T would soften its anguish, my head could I pillow, 

As life, like a vision, shall fade from my heart, 
By the side of Connecticut's dark-rolling billow. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 

In the glad days of summer the lily and rose. 

The delight of the garden, were fragrant and bright; 

But their bloom and their fragrance have come to a close, 
And another short year hath betaken to flight. 

'T is a few days ago, when I walked out one morn. 
As the sun was just rising above the green hill ; 

The pear-tree was laden, the flower hid the thorn, 
And sweet was the murmuring voice of the rill. 

The thrush and the linnet were joyous and gay, 
The lark sweetly sang from his tent in the sky; 

From the hazel's retreat burst the black-bird away. 
And the fields seemed in music and beauty to vie. 

But now the fair landscape hath lost its delight, 
The earth is all barren, the trees are all bare, 

The forest indeed wears a mantle of white. 

But the voices that cheered it no longer are there. 

Wherever I look, there are signs of decay ; 

I hear the winds whistle unjoyous and drear. 
The rills through the ice urge their desolate way. 

And blighting and grief mark the death of the year. 



SALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 67 

Still the sun shall return and his lamp shall be nigh, 
And the trees that are naked and torn by the blast 

Be again green as ever, and rich in his eye, 
But the year of our life is the first and the last. 

Our lamp shall wax dim, and our sun shall retire, 
And our bodies return to the dust of their birth ; 

O, who shall rekindle that lustreless fire. 

And its beauty restore to that mouldering earth ? 

A sun that 's eternal shall burst on the tomb, 

And commence a new year to the good and the wise ; 

His rays their dark prison shall pierce and relume. 
And sprinkle with splendor their path to the skies. 



THE SICK CHILD. 



The sweat is standing on her brow, 
The tear is beaming in her eye, 

She doth not clasp her father now, 
As in the happy days gone by. 

Borne in her cradle of distress. 

From morn to evening doth she lay : 

Her little arms are powerless. 

She hath no strength to run or play. 

In vain shall those, who love her, seek 
Her radiant look, her beauty's glow : 

The tints have faded from her cheek, 
Her mourning voice is weak and low. 



68 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

0, could I hear that voice once more 
Speak out as it was used to do, 

How sweetly would those tones restore 
The joys which once my spirit knew ! 

When spring was in its beauty dressed, 
And birds were singing in their bovvers, 

With joy too great to be repressed, 

She played among the opening flowers. 

But see, the sweat is on her brow, 
The tear is beaming in her eye ; 

She doth not clasp her father now. 
As in the happy days gone by. 



THE WOUNDED BIRD, 

Poor wounded bird ! my bosom aches for thee. 
As I thy torn and bleeding form behold. 
Wide in the sky no more thou shalt unfold 

Thy wings, exulting in their liberty. 

It was but yester morn I saw thee blest ; 

I marked thy plumage gay, and heard thee sing, 
And watched thee upward on thy early wing. 

Before the sunbeam found thy dewy nest. 

Thou wast a tenant of the boundless air ; 
Thy song, at coming morn, rejoicing loud. 
Thrilled from the bosom of the golden cloud, 

And thou didst lodge in light and beauty there. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 69 

Poor bird ! I would that I could bring relief, 
And call thee back to joys and songs again ; 
But that can never be ; these tears are vain, 

And thou shalt bow thy head in early grief. 

I see thy heaving heart with throbs dilate ; 

I mark the shadows of thy closing eye ; 

Yes, thou art fallen low, but shalt not die 
Without a friend to mourn thy cruel fate. 



THE HUNTERS. 



The moon hath bowed her orb of light, 
And here we 'II rest, till morn is bright; 
The mountain deer were swift to-day. 
And far have led our feet astray. 

The cottage fire is out ; afar 
The watch-dog bays the lingering star ; 
Upon the mount springs up the deer. 
And lifts his antlered head to hear. 

But he shall rest again his eye 
Beside the brook that murmurs by, 
And lose in dreams and soft repose 
The sense of weariness and woes. 

The hunters, too, shall sink to sleep. 
With burning pines their watch to keep; 
While far and near the wakeful trees 
Make music in the nightly breeze. 



70 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

But soon again the sun shall fling 
The daylight from his golden wing ; 
And hills, and woods, and waters far, 
Resound with horn and sylvan war. 



'TIS MANY A YEAR. 



'T IS many a year, since first I drew 

Your airs, ye hills, with panting breast ; 
And on your rocks the loud halloo 

With voice and waving arm exprest. 
Your rugged steeps I loved to climb. 
And thence with eager eye survey, 
Vhen seated on their brow sublime, 
The fields and farmhouse far away. 
'T is many a year. 

Those years I wish would come again, 

Those distant times I oft recall ; 
Alas ! my youthful joys are slain ; 

I say, as silent tear-drops fall, 
V\rhere are the days when down your side 

The little sled, that bore me swift, 
At winter eve I loved to guide 

O'er icy steep and frozen drift ? 
'T is many a year. 

Old men have died since I was young; 

Young men have into manhood grown. 
It is not now as when I sung 

Upon those distant hills alone, 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 71 

And called upon the rocks to hear, 

And called upon the trees around, 
And rocks, and trees, and waters near. 

Echoed me back their joyful sound. 
'T is many a year. 



THE LANDSCAPE. 



I CLIMBED the rude hills at the closing of day, 

And marked with delight, ere the sunbeams withdrew, 

The landscape below, in the distance that lay. 
And brightly expanded its charms to my view. 

The smoke from the cottage was curling beneath. 
The cottage "half hid in the trees" from mine eye; 

While the clouds caught, in many a silvery wreath. 
The gleams that were purest and brightest of dye. 

The wild birds were talking in leaf and in nest ; 

The brook sang aloud with its music divine ; 
And far in the vale that sloped down to the west 

Was the bleating of sheep and the lowing of kine. 

'T was lonely and rugged, the place where I stood, 
But pleasures came over my heart in a throng ; 

The shout from the huntsman arose from the wood. 
And I heard in the distance the shepherd -boy's song. 



72 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

SING THAT SONG AGAIN. 

O, LADY ! sing that song again, 

I '11 sadly linger by ; 
I've heard it on my native plain, 
It then was able to unchain 
Emotions high. 

In youth I heard it, till the tears 

In torrents found their way ; 
For loves, and joys, and hopes, and fears. 
How strong their power in those young years 
The mind to sway ! 

And when I hear thee, lady, sing. 

Though far those times are gone ; 
It seems as if each joyous thing. 
More brightly waving memory's wing, 
Came flying on. 

I see once more my native vale, 

Its birds once more I hear ; 
And when the evening shades prevail, 
The oft-told legendary tale 

Arrests mine ear. 

O, yes ! 't is sweet thy voice to hear, 
And memory's dreams are sweet ; 
And yet it wrings the bitter tear, 
To think what youthful friends I ne'er 
Again shall greet. 



BALLADS ANli SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 73 



MAID OF SUNCOOK. 

[Founded on certain painful occurrences which took place, many 
years since, in a family living in the neighborhood of the Suncook 
river, in New Hampshire; — occurrences the more painful, as well a* 
more deeply interesting, because the deserted one was accomplishe< 
as well as beautiful, and descended, also, from a family of high Revo 
lutionary fame.] 

I. 

Yes, Edward, once I thought thee true, 
And oh, too long did I believe thee ; 

But now my faith I dearly rue, 

And wail that e'er thou couldst deceive me. 

And couldst thou wring the bosom so, 

That lived, exulted to caress thee ? 
O, couldst thou rend this heart with woe, 

When every throb arose to bless thee ? 

Time was when thou couldst call me fair, 
And vow your love was mine forever ; 

But oh, those words were empty air, 

Though strong to break the heart, deceiver! 

Then fare thee well, since thou wilt go, 

And where thou canst thy pleasures borrow ; 

For me, though grief is mine, and woe, 
No pangs shall goad my life to-morrow. 

And if in death thine eyes behold me, 

And watch thy Mary's pallid clay. 
Think then of all thy lips have told me, 

Think then they flattered to betray. 

7 



74 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

II. 

Thus Mary's voice her anguish spoke, 

When shifting clouds on high were driven, 

When through the dark and troubled oak 
Shone dimly down the stars of heaven. 

Not all the arts to friendship known 
Had power the victim to recover, 

When once the mind was overthrown 
That trusted in a perjured lover. 

And from the cliff o'er Suncook's wave, 
That round its craggy base was breaking. 

She plunged beneath her watery grave, 
To earth's sad scenes no more awaking. 

And oft by maid and pitying youth. 
The story, mournfully repeated. 

Draws tears from eyes of love and truth. 
As round their hearthstone they are sealed. 

O sad, they say, that love so strong 
Should be at last so rudely parted. 

How wretched he who did the wrong, 
And left poor Mary broken-hearted 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE, 75 



THE BOWER. 

The bower you taught for me to bloom 
As bright will shed its tints and perfume 
As if the hand that decked it were there, 
Its hues and its balmy breath to share. 

The warbler, whose sweet, entrancing strain 
Sank deep in the heart, till joy grew pain. 
Will utter his notes as soft and clear 
As when we both were lingering near. 

But the brightest array of nature's dress, 
Though floating in light and loveliness. 
Has never worn half so bright a hue 
As when we both her witchery knew. 

And the music at evening's pensive hour, 
That hallows our dew-besprinkled bower, 
Has never beguiled a tear from me. 
Which memory did not gild for thee. 



THE DESERTED ISLAND. 



From our lovely retreat when forever we part. 

Where smile answered smile, and where heart beat to heart, 

O, how often and fondly, though far we may be. 

Will we think, thou blest isle, of each other and thee ! 



76 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIK". 

We gazed on the waters. How gently they threw, 
To the sands that embrace thee, their circles of blue ; 
Then passed they to ocean, nor thought to delay; 
So embraced we each other, and so haste away. 

Though the flowers of thy borders grow faded and sear, 
Though the waves that caress thee so soon disappear, 
In souls like thy waters, unruffled and pure, 
The love that we cherished shall always endure. 

0, the noon of our gladness, how soon 't is o'ercast ! 
Adieu, ye enchantments, too lovely to last ; 
We '11 go from the haunts where the blue billows roll, 
But the isle and its waters shall live in the soul. 



THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SUN. 

[Between the Flint and Oakmulge rivers, within the limits of the 
State of Georgia, is a vast marsh, which in the wet season is tille<l with 
water, and has the appearance of a lake. Here are a number of lai'ge 
islands or knolls of rich high land, one of which the Creek Indians, 
that formerly resided in the vicinity, were in the habit of representing 
as the most blissful spot on earth, — inhabited by a peculiar race of 
Indians, whose women were remarkable for their beneficence, as well 
as their incomparable beauty. They called them the Daughters of the 
Sun. — See Bartram's Travels, p. 25.] 

O, THEiBS is the lonely isle of flowers, 

And at morning and eve, through laurel groves, 

The voice of music is heard in their bowers, 
And the wild deer listens, that thither roves. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 77 

Tlie dew-drops of heaven their radiance fling 
O'er the breathing woods, that brightly smile ; 

And the blooming cest of an endless spring 
Is shining around that happy isle. 

No sorrow their radiant cheeks to shade, 

Their hands and their hearts are fondly one; 

And the notes, by their fairy fingers played, 
In mingling tides of rapture run. 

And never the white dove sailing by, 
Nor the star of evening's pensive reign, 

With those hearts of light and love could vie. 
The bosoms undimmed by folly's stain. 



HAPPINESS OF UNITED MINDS. 

Two angels met at heaven's gate ; 

Each had the brightness of the sun ; — 
But neither yet had found its mate. 

Nor knew the bliss of two in one. 

They long had wandered wide and far ; 

God formed them in another sphere; 
And then they soared from star to star, 

Until they met together here. 

Where'er they went, below, above, 
Unnumbered spirits thronged around ; 

And yet they knew, another love, 
Their mated spirit, was not found. 
7# 



78 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

They met, — the image of each other, — 
Eye shone in eye, and heart in heart; 

More fond than brother meets a brother, 
More dear than sisters long apart. 

At once they folded at their side 

Their golden wings, no more to roam ; — 

Each in the other clasped a bride, 
Each in the other found a home. 

"And what is heaven," they said, "but this 2' 
With mingling heart and radiant brow; 

"If heaven is love, and love is bliss. 

The heaven we sought is round us now." 



ADIEU! AND OH, WHAT TONGUE CAN TELL. 

Adieu ! and oh, what tongue can tell 

The images that float around. 
Awakened by the magic spell 

Which lurks within that parting sound? 

One faith, one hope, the mutual tear. 

When but our slightest step went wrong, — 

These kept us, each to other, dear, 

And made the bond so true and strong. 

We loved, — but ours was not the love 
Which earth around its votaries binds ; 

But, pure as its bright home above, 

'T was that which links celestial minds. 



BALLADS AND SOxNGS FOR THE COTTAfiE. 79 

Love has its griefs. And this sad hour, 
These memories dear, the parting sigh, 

Proclaim that we have felt the power 
Of that which bleeds, but cannot die. 

Adieu ! A long, a last adieu ! 

So long our source of hope and bliss ! 
But brighter realms shall gild anew 

The truth, the love, the joys, of this. 



COCHECO. 



[The Cocheco, near -which the writer resided in early life, is a spiall 
but pleasant river -which flo-ws through a portion of the County of 
Strafford, in New Hampshire. The scenery along its borders is in 
many places romantic and beautiful ; and it is the locality of some of 
the descriptions in these poems. It empties into the river Piscatawa. ] 

'T IS not that the waves of Cocheco 

Are purer or brighter of glow. 
Or brighter the shrubs and the flow'rets 

O'er the waves of Cocheco that blow. 
'Tis not that the sumac, which blushes. 

As it bathes in its turbulent tide. 
Or the song of the bird in its rushes. 

Are better than thousands beside. 

'T is not that the meadows are greener, 
Or the oak-trees more towering and hoar, 

Or the canopied heavens serener, 

Than you 've witnessed an hundred times o'er. 



80 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

'T is this that so gladdens Cocheco, — 
It shone on the times that have fled, 

And to me they are fairest and brightest, 
The trees that have waved o'er my head. 

'T is this, — that the days of my childhood 

Have played 'mong its elms and its vines, 
And remembrance can count every wildwood 

And murmuring haunt where it shines. 
'T is this, — that the waves of Cocheco 

Still flow for the friends that are near, — 
'T is this, that so makes its recesses. 

Its shades and its roses, so dear. 



SING ON, SWEET BIRD ! I LOVE THY STRAIN ! 

Sing on, sweet bird! I love thy strain. 
Bird of the morning's fragrant hour ! 

I 've heard it oft, — and now again 
My heart acknowledges its power. 

What makes thy heart, sweet bird, so light ? 

What makes thy song so loud and clear, 
When, soaring high from human sight, 

Thine early note I turn to hear ? 

There is no sorrow in thy song, 

Because no sin is in thy heart; 
And he, whose soul is kept from wrong, 

Has learned the secret of thine art. 



BALLADS AND SONGS FOK TUH COTTrtGE. 81 

Sweet bird ! With gladness in thy lay, 
And heaven's pure light upon thy wing, 

I seem to hear thy transports say, 

Seek heaven, like nae, if thou wouldst sing. 



THE EXILE'S SONG. 

I WOTTLD that I could sing the song 

I sang beneath my native sky ; 
But something tells me 't would be wrong 

That note of joy again to try. 

When winter comes, we list in vain 
To hear the merry birds of June ; 

Then ask me not to breathe the strain, 
Until the spirit is in tune. 

For now, a wanderer far away, 
Another stream and vales I view ; 

And if I poured the joyful lay. 

My heart would answer, 't is not true 

No lover sings the song of bliss. 

When from his bosom's mate he 's parted ; 
The exile's soul, no less than his. 

Is lone, and sad, and broken-hearted. 

0, when I breathe my native air, 

And tread once more my native plain, 

Then shall my heart its joy repair, 
My tongue repeat its song again. 



82 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



WHY DOES MY HEART SO OFT. 



Why does my heart so oft 
To those dear scenes return, 

As if the memories of its youth 
It never could unlearn ? 

As if upon its track, 

Time, ever hastening on, 
Could stop, and on its step go back, 

And give the life that 's gone ? 

O, restless heart, be still ! — 

And think not to restore 
Those early days of loveliness, 

Gone, to return no more. 

Nor let it grieve thee thus. 
Those memories to restrain : 

But strive, since there 's a home above, 
That better home to gain. 

There shalt thou find a bliss 

Above all bliss below ; 
And taste in heaven a happiness 

On earth thou couldst not know. 



THE WIDOW AND HER CHILDREN. 

[These stanzas were suggested by the breaking up of an interest- 
ing family, with which the writer was acquainted many years since. 
The father died; the children were scattered; while the humble faith 
of the mother shone with new lustre in her sorrows. Sucli occur- 
rences are so frequent as hardly to attract notice; but they illustrate 
the aifections and sorrows of our condition, and the beauty and strength 
of Christian piety.] 



The Lord my pasture shall prepare, 
And feed me with a shepherd's care ; 
His presence shall my wants supply, 
And gtiard me with a watchful eye. 
Addison. 



Down by yon gentle stream, whose curling flow 
Brightens beneath the hillock's calm ascent, 
A cottage stands. Before its day of woe, 
Flowers bloomed around, and where the forest sent 
Its waving branches towards the firmament, 
Not distant far, were heard loud-spoken joys. 
Which came, what time the setting sun was spent, 
Beneath the gnarled oak, from bright-eyed boys; 
But now the flower is dim, and silent grief annoys. 



84 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Yea, I remember well. Three years are gone, 
And it was last of autumn ; woods were sear, 
And oft November's gusty blasts came on, 
Whirling the leaves in air with sport severe ; 
'T was then with sauntering footsteps I drew near. 
Entering the white-washed walls. And all below 
That cottage root did to mine eyes apfiear 
Far from pollution's blight ana touch of woe; 
There, hearts with hope are glad, and cheeks with pleas- 
ure glow. 

III. 

The meek-eyed sheep grazed near the running wave; 
The noisy geese proud o'er its bosom rowed ; 
As mindful of the care the farmer gave, 
Their annual gifts of wool his flock bestowed ; 
Slowly the cow returned, and loudly lowed 
To call the maiden from the cottage door. 
And yield into her pail the milky load, — 
The cow, the friend and favorite of the poor, 
That gives them great content, if they have nothing more. 

IV. 

The cottager, who wrought with arm not slack, 
Cheerful, now laid aside his axe and spade. 
And from his field's rude boundary came back. 
The sun sank low, and with the evening shade 
The day was darkly closed. Sweet pause was made 
To toils with each new morn returning still. 
Nor longer then in prank and sport delayed 
Two laughing boys. They, whistling o'er the hill. 
Direct their footsteps home, with joy their cot to fill, 



THE WIDOW AND HER CHILDREN. 85 



Their days were days of labor ; yet not this 
Could render them unhappy. They could see 
Duty in toil, which changed that toil to bliss. 
Contented thus they lived. They knew that He 
A friend to the believing poor would be, 
Who feedg the raven, gives the flower its bloom. 
I looked around ; and in their poverty 
The marks of household labor graced the room ; 
Here hung the skeins of yarn, — there stood the wheel and 
loom. 

VI. 

Kind family ! That ever warmly pressed 
Stranger or friend, his hour that with them spent, 
Freely to share whatever they possessed ; 
Fruits of the wild and garden they present, 
With heart sincere, no feigned sentiment. 
And happy m their goodness, smiles declare, 
Which pleasure to their dimpled features lent, 
That they were well rewarded for their care, 
When friend or stranger took such as the poor could spare. 

VII. 

They were not happy always ! for the storm, 
Which threatens all, hath beat upon the brow, 
And brought unto the dust the manly form. 
The father, husband, friend ! Where is he now ? 
There came a sickness on him, which did bow 
The vigor of his strength and dim his eye. 
Alas! our life is like a flower; and how, 
How speedily shall all the living die, 
4.nd in the common dust in equal lowness lie ! 
8 



86 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

VIII. 

And she most patiently, whose faithful heart 
Was bound to his in wedlock's sacred band, 
In toil and watching showed the duteous part. 
Day followed day : she still was seen to stand 
Beside his pillow, with assisting hand. 
But all her tender arts could not avail 
To hold him from the grave's oblivious land. 
The living went with weeping and with wail, 
And buried low his dust down in the green-wood vale. 



Nor this the sum of sadness in her lot, — 
More desert still shall be her lone abode ; 
Orphans, and poor, her children leave her cot, 
Cast out, unguided, on life's stormy road. 
The evening hearth, where oft they gathered, glowed 
Bright with the blaze the burning logs dispense. 
Here were they wont to meet, and friendship flowed 
Warm from each heart, and joy filled every sense ; 
But now their father 's dead, and they must hasten hence. 



The flower, that graced their fields, no more shall bloom , 
The vine shall droop, their art was wont to raise ; 
And from their cottage, dark with grief and gloom. 
Be banished the delights of former days. 
But say, can absence or can toil erase 
The memory of each dear scene and friend ? 
Forgetfulness may other thoughts displace, 
But early days with after life shall blend. 
Grow with our memory's growth, and with our being end. 



THE WIDOW AND HER CHILDREN. 87 

XI. 

Gone are the hours when first in youth's svveet time, 
With vagrant feet, they wandered o'er the hill; 
And when with rival zeal they loved to climb 
The rocks that rose beside the noisy mill, 
Marking the fall of waters, and the fill 
Of pleasure came into their joyful heart. 
Such is our lot, of Providence the will ; 
O, Thou who sendest grief, support impart; 
Protect the orphans all ; the orphan's friend thou art. 

XII. 

The mourning daughters to the factory went. 
That rears on high its massive stories tall, 
With noise of many looms in concert blent, 
And wheels that loudly dash within its wall, 
Close on the banks of darkling Salmon-Fall. 
Thither they walked on foot, and hand in hand ; 
They grieved to leave their mother, but their all 
Consisted in some scanty roods of land, 
And he was gone who ploughed, — they were an orphan 
band. 

XIII. 

One boy at home the widowed mother kept, 
To glean their little field, to bring the wood, 
Piled in their cot at eve before they slept. 
And cheer with filial love her solitude. 
The elder lad, more stout, in labor good. 
O'er whom had passed the sixteenth summer's beam, 
Sought, with a farmer near, a livelihood, 
With axe, and plough, and driving of his team. 
Thus sadly early joys departed like a dream. 



AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Ye who have watched o'er guileless infancy, 
And kindly rocked the cradle of its rest, — 
Ye who have borne it on the patient knee, 
Nor less in riper years have loved, carest, 
Than when upon your knee, or on your breast, — 
Can fitly tell, and you alone can tell, 
How sad the hour of parting, — how unblest 
The moment of the long, the long farewell. 
But ere they le£t their home, these parting accents fell. 



My loved ones ! said the mother, (and the tear 
Of sorrow twinkled in her widowed eye,) 
Ye are my charge. It rests, my children dear. 
On me alone. Ye saw your father die. 
And low and still in dust his ashes lie ; 
We followed him together to his tomb. 
For you, my orphans, oft I heave the sigh ; 
For you with anxious toil I urge the loom. 
For you I pray at morn, and at deep midnight's gloom. 

XVI. 

I see you now, as in the seasons past. 
Heaven only knows if we shall meet again ; 
Great were our joys, but they have faded fast; 
And yet, my children, we should not complain, 
Nor aught, that comes in Providence, arraign. 
Jehovah will our wants and griefs relieve. 
If we our souls in patience shall sustain. 
Lifting your thoughts to him, ye shall receive 
Great blessings from his hand; and such he will not leave. 



THE WIDOW AND HER CHILDREN. 89 



Thus spake the mother. Many tears did fall. 
Her orphan children to their masters went. 
The anxious parent bade them, one and all, 
Be faithful in their work, and be content. 
Oft little gifts her wanderers to her sent, 
Earned by their daily toils ; for their true heart 
Was never from their childhood's dwelling rent. 
The elder brother learns the farmer's art ; 
In Salmon-Fall the maids industrious act their part. 

XVIII. 

Ye farmers ! see that ye in virtue's school 
Bring up all those who fall unto your care ; 
And ye who o'er yon massy factories rule. 
Let the poor orphan in your kindness share ; 
Then shall they serve you well, and good prepare 
Both for themselves and others ; and your name 
Receive the good man's smile, the poor man's prayer. 
How many thanks the virtuous soul may claim ! 
Such build upon a rock, and are not put to shame. 
8* 



THE SNOW-STORM. 

Chill airs, and wintry winds, my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song 

I hear it in the opening year ; 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 

Longfellow. 



I. 



When feeble suns scarce light the wintry sky, 
And clouds are drifting in the doubtful air, 
The pensive man, with expectation high, 
Forth to the v/indow moves his easy-chair. 
Observant there, in pleased security. 
Regaling, as he may, both eye and ear. 
He marks the frozen brook, the withered tree. 
And loves, at frequent intervals, to hear 
The howling of the blast, that winds its summons drear. 



The pensive man, to thought and feeling prone. 
Inclined to sadness, but averse from sorrow. 
In silence sits, and loves to be alone. 
And joy from inward contemplations borrow. 
Thus let me muse, nor do thou deem it strange 
That it is given the sense of joy to find 
From varying thoughts that unrestricted range, 
Light and unfixed as is the stayless wind. 
Pleased with the present scene, and to the future blind. 



THE SNOW-STORM. 



91 



III. 



'T is winter, in its wild and angry mood : 
And as I look, behold, the clamorous crows, 
Scared by the uproar vast, in yonder wood 
Regain a shelter from the blast and snows, 
Where pines and firs their thick protection yield. 
There nestle they retired, nor heed the cry 
From muffled owl, in hollow trunk concealed. 
Hid in the twisted roots, with fearful eye. 
The wary fox beholds the tempest hurrying by. 

IV. 

Forth from the wood the wood-cutter comes back ; 
Upon his frosty beard the snow stands thick; 
He looks with peering eye to find the track, 
Then struofgles on with panting breath and quick, 
Seeking his home. Anon, a traveller's sleigh 
Goes swift, with bells that chime their stifled din 
But he, who rides on such a stormy day, 
With aid of whip and voice, shall scarcely win, 
Seen dimly in the drifts, the distant village inn. 



A refuge seeking from the surly winter. 
The red-breast comes, unto the window flying ; 
Well pleased, I haste to let the stranger enter, 
And strive to keep the little thing from dying. 
See, how he hops abroad, and picks the bread, 
The hospitable hand of childhood brings; 
Then pausing, as in thought, erects his head, 
And glances quick, and trims his little wings. 
And with a sudden voice breaks gladly forth and sings. 



92 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Unmindful of the storm, the noisy cur 
Shakes his well-powdered sides, and barks, and now, 
A sharer in the elemental stir. 
With plunging head into the drift doth plough, 
And upward throws around the " feathery snow." 
But Dobbin ! such an hour 's no sport for him. 
With ruminating head, depending low. 
And half-shut eye, with gathered snow-flakes dim, 
Close to the sheltering barn, he draws his quivering limb. 

VII. 

The weary thresher lays aside his flail. 
And shuts, like one amazed, his granary door; 
Nor else can do : the winds his heaps assail, 
And wheat and chafTfly wildly round the floor. 
The shades still darker wrap the rolling cloud. 
And hurtling snows come rushing still more fast; 
Low to the earth the groaning trees are bowed. 
From rock and hill in headlong ruin cast. 
The village steeple waves and trembles in the blast. 

VIII. 

At such an hour let none adventurous roam. 
Dear to the heart, at such a time as this, 
Is the security and peace of home. 
The blazing hearth and the domestic bliss. 
See how the traveller scarce resists the storm ! 
Mark, how he strives along with fainting feet! 
And doomed, without the friendly welcome warm, 
To perish in its freezing winding-sheet! 
Then heap the favoring blaze, his weary steps to greet ! 



THE SNOW-STORM. 93 



Yes, turn and rest thee, tired and suffering one! 
Haste, at the blazing hearth-stone fake thy stand ! 
Fear not, that any here thy woes will shun. 
And hold from sorrow's aid the helping hand. 
It is for this the stormy tempests blow. 
To show how small the boasted strength of man, 
And when a suffering brother comes in woe, 
That 't is a part of Heaven's benignant plan, 
To ope the friendly door, and help him as we can. 



The sun sets now ; and yet no sun doth rest 
Upon the mount its golden orb of light. 
Dark clouds usurp his place ; and shades unblest 
And moaning sounds the startled air affi-ight. 
In yon lone cot the mother trims the blaze 
That through the window sends its nightly beam. 
Unmoved by fears that older hearts amaze, 
Though fierce the snows invade each gaping seam. 
The children, gathering round, enclose its cheerful gleam. 

XI. 

The winds are rude, but they regard it not, 
And laugh as they were wont, and prattle loud ; 
Prone on the floor, unconscious he of aught, 
The shaggy dog with closing eye is bowed. 
The cat doth in the corner sit demure ; 
And asthe crackling fire lights up the room, 
The housewife spreads the table of the poor, 
Or plies with careful hand the busy broom. 
Or doth her task once more, her wonted wheel resume. 



94 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

XII. 

Snug in the corner doth her good man sit, 
Nor ever from his lazy settle moves ; 
The howling blast frights not his quiet wit, 
But stormy sounds and piping winds he loves. 
He, philosophic, chides at needless sorrow, 
Nor will he add to real, fancied ills. 
But looks in storms to-day for calms to-morrow. 
Thus fearful thoughts and low complaints he stills, 
And ever and anon, his patient pipe he fills. 



Happy the man, in winter's stormy hour, 
When woods and plains with angry snows are strown, 
Who is not doomed to feel their hostile power. 
But hath a shelter he can call his own, — 
The cheerful hearth, the amicable chair. 
He, with his gossip neighbors side by side, 
Spreads cheerfully the peasant's homely fare. 
They deal the mutual jest. Then venturing wide, 
With patriot zeal elate, the nation's fate decide. 

XIV. 

How keen the glances of their generous strife ! 
Emphatic on the table strikes the hand ! 
Each holding firm, as if 'twere death or life, 
The favorite text that sinks or saves the land ; — 
Lesson sublime for patriotic ear. 
Old Rover, stretched at ease upon the floor, 
Erects his shaggy head the din to hear; — 
Unusual now, thouqh often heard before ; 
Meanwhile the outward storm still thunders at the door 



THE SNOW-STORM. 95 

XV. 

Ah me ! on such a fearful time as this, 
While we around the peaceful hearth are safe, 
And in the warmth and glow of social bliss, 
Forget the winds against the house that chafe, 
And at the door and windows threat in vain. 
The seamen on the overwhelming deep, 
The tenants of the loud and doubtful main, 
Can scarce their stations on the vessel keep ; 
See how they mount on high, then plunging down they 
sweep. 

XVI. 

Anon, a wave, impatient of delay, 
Bears suddenly some sailor from the deck. 
Poor man ! in the illimitable way, 
That foaming spreads around, he seems a speck. 
Now sunk, now seen, now borne on high, now low, 
He smites the wave like one that strikes for life • 
But all in vain ; far downward doth he go ; 
And as he yields, at lengtii, the fearful strife. 
He, dying, thinks once more cf children, home, and wife. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 

[It is hardly necessary to remark that Thanksgi\-ing day is the 
principal social and religious festival in the New England and some 
other of the United States. Occurring at the season of the year when 
the heart naturally rejoices in the various exhibitions of the divine 
goodness, hallowed by early recollections and by religious influences, 
it is welcomed by all classes. Some of the traits and incidents, which 
are characteristic of this interesting season, are embodied in the follow- 
ing stanzas. But it maybe proper to keep in mind, that we have pro- 
posed to describe the humble and unpretending Thanksgiving of those 
in rural life, rather than that of those, who move in what are sometimes 
considered the more elevated circles.] 



Bright is the early morn. With radiance clear 
Its dewy light illumes the dusky wood. 
The neat but humble mansion rises near, 
Embosomed in its leafy solitude. 
There doth the farmer, far from public strife, 
'Mid sheltered scenes, with sylvan beauty strown, 
In quiet independence pass his life, 
To want and all its bitter train unknown. 
Although by toil he gains whate'er he calls his own. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 97 



A plain New England ploughman ; true in word, 
In manners gentle, open-hearted, kind. 
But though in noisy contest never heard, 
He bears a steadfast and judicious mind. 
Soon as the morn its journey doth renew, 
And scatters bright " the rear of darkness thin," 
In distant fields his hands their task pursue ; 
Nor less at home the early cares begin 
Of those who milk the cows, and those who gayly spin. 



Nor deem from toil that he hath no release ; 
'T is true, his bread by watchful care is won ; 
But with the coming eve his labors cease, 
And he is happy when his work is done. 
And once a year his brightly beaming hearth 
Shines brighter yet — upon Thanksgiving day. 
Loud sounds the merry voice of childhood's mirth, 
While those of riper years, who live away, 
Returning from afar, their annual visits pay. 

IV. 

Behold ! in chaise or wagon they appear, 
Approaching glad their own, their native hill ; 
Where stands the home, to early childhood dear, 
The home, where deep afTection lingers still. 
Once more, with beating heart, once more they see 
The scattered cottages, the pastures wide. 
The modest church, the overhanging tree, 
The distant forests, waving in their pride, 
And all to memory dear, to early joys alliea. 
9 



93 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



How strong the charm, when early life is new, 
Which binds itself to each familiar scene ; 
The humble school-house claims again their view, 
Upon its solitary patch of green. 
There were they wont their childish skill to try 
The birch still grew beside the aged door. 
And thence the eager school-dame, passing by, 
Detached the rod, which awfully she bore, 
As with laborious care she taught her simple lore. 



With gratulations oft and warm, they bless 
Every loved object which they recognize. 
The ancient orchard and its cider-press. 
And slow-paced Dobbin greet again their eyes. 
They mark the ploughshare in the glebe it broke, 
And as their eager gaze they round bestow, 
They praise the oxen, parted from the yoke, 
That graze the fields, as yet unclothed with snow, 
And wake the echoes oft, with loudly uttered low. 



And see, they turn again with kindling eye, 
And hail the towering oaks expanding wide. 
Beneath those oaks, when evening gilt the sky. 
Full many a feat of speed and strength they tried. 
Nor, while their frequent glances they prolong. 
Do they forget the stream, whose verdant shore 
Resounded loud with many a wild bird's song. 
With lusty arm they swam its waves of yore. 
Or, borne in well-built boat, applied the vigorous oar. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 99 



The gray-haired father guides their steps around, 
Well pleased to find that they do not forget ; 
That streams, and blooming woods, and cultured ground, 
In memory's fadeless page are brightly set, 
And still, as they were wont, the soul can cheer. 
And thus it is, that ever cherished well, 
Thanksgiving day, to youth and maiden dear, 
Opes with its golden key the secret cell, 
Whence o'er the bounding heart unnumbered pleasures 
swell. 

IX. 

To-day, old men, that erst, o'ercome with fears. 
Low in the chimney corner bowed their head, 
Are fired with life, as in their younger years, 
Throw dowa the crutch, and move with sprightlier tread. 
To-day, the beggar, bidding care away, 
With firmer step invades the farmer's door, 
And cheers himself, and sings his roundelay. 
As blest in heart, though miserably poor. 
As if he had a home, and countless wealth in store. 



Joy to the loved and lone Emilia too. 
An orphan, left to grief and early cares. 
She, at this happy time, as wont to do. 
With punctual visit, to her friends repairs; 
And welcomed by the farmer and his wife, 
Who felt the sorrows of a brother's child, 
She deemed these hours the bright ones of her life. 
When, many a secret grief and toil beguiled, 
Her mourning heart was cheered, as all around her smiled. 



100 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

XI. 

And soon around the fire they drew the chair, 

And many a fond inquiry then is past : 

What trials and what griefs have been the sliare 

Of each since they beheld each other last ? 

Who have been sick, and who been doomed to die ? 

Perchance how Giles succeeds at his new trade ? 
■ The hopes and records of the nuptial tie ? 

How grew the corn, and how the wheaten blade, 
After the havoc wild which the great tempest maae ? 

XII. 

The younger portion of the family. 
And those who visit them, of equal age, 
Pour forth the torrent of their childish glee ; 
While others, older in their pilgrimage, 
The matrons sage and grandsires sitting by. 
Their sports with sympathetic gladness view. 
The scene brings back to memory's fruitful eye 
The days when they were young and thoughtless toe, 
And loved with busy zeal each pleasure to pursue. 



Now to the public worship all repair, 
For not " by bread alone " God's people live. 
The frequent villagers are gathering there, 
A portion from the Bible to receive. 
And raise with happy hearts the grateful song. 
When streams, that from the rugged mountains roll. 
When rocks and hills the note of praise prolong, 
O, shall not man, who ruleth o'er the whole, 
Join in the strain divine, and lift the joyous soul ? 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 101 



O, 'tis most true, that Nature hath a voice, 
And her Creator given her a tongue; 
That through her mighty realms she doth rejoice, 
And by her countless hosts his praise is sung. 
The little lambs give praise upon the hill, 
The little birds upon the flowering tree ; 
The bright, uncounted stars proclaim his will ; 
The moon, that walketh in her majesty ; 
Thou boundless, mighty God ! All nature 's full of Thee. 



But chief thou dwellest with the heart contrite, 
With such as are of soul resigned and pure ; 
Far in the lonely cot is thy delight, 
With the believing and religious poor. 
Thou ever hearest, when thine aid they ask ; 
When sorrows throng them, Thou dost still befriend ; 
And lest in vain should prove their daily task. 
The gentle rain and sunshine Thou dost send, 
With greater goods in store, when life's few days shall end. 



And now the massy tables are displayed, 
Where those shall meet, who ne'er may meet again. 
There children, cousins, neighbors are arrayed; 
The cheerful beggar helps to swell the train. 
The board well-dressed is like the driven snow; 
To grace it well the careful housewife tries ; 
White are the plates in long and decent row ; 
The smoking puddings, and the pumpkin pies, 
And roasted beef, look rich and goodly in her eyes. 
9* 



102 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Happy the man, who, when this day comes round, 
Can think on cellars stored and garners filled; 
The honest product of the grateful ground, 
His own, and not another's hands have tilled. 
He dreads nor duns nor sheriffs at his gate. 
Nor fears in aught the snares for debtors spread. 
But with a heart serene, a step elate, 
Goes forth, the sovereign of his rural shed. 
Yet never doth forget the Giver of his bread. 



To him what reasons there exist for praise ! 
How many motives to a virtuous course ! 
The tide of good hath reached us all our days. 
Full in its stream, exhaustless in its source. 
Our cows and corn-fields give us milk and meal ; 
Our barns well filled, nor small the cellar's store ; 
Loud sounds at eve the merry spinning-wheel. 
And when, perchance, the wintry storm sweeps o'er. 
We have our own bright hearth. What could we wish for 
more ? 

XIX. 

Once 't was not so. In years, when he was young, 
The farmer tells of griefs, that are not now. 
The husbandmen, with muskets o'er them slung, 
In danger and in watching held the plough. 
Sadly and slow the fearful moments sped, 
For savage men, athirst for blood, were nigh, 
And when at eve they bowed the weary head. 
They knew not, but ere morn the warwhoop's cry 
Would reach their lowly roof, and call them out to die. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 103 

XX. 

But now contentment beams in every face; 
Peace in our dwellings, and stern war afar; 
Ne'er may it leave again its deadly trace, 
Arid ne'er again the scene of quiet mar. 
Instead of spears the fruitful share we guide ; 
Instead of swords the pruning-hook we wield ; 
Beneath our own dear roof, the hearth beside. 
Come, let us scan the claims of hill and field, 
And learn what fits the sheep, and where the grain doth 
yield. 

XXI. 

And thus to friendly converse they incline ; 
The farmer tells the time to plough and sow ; 
While others speak of pastures, sheep, and kine, 
Of summer's suns, or winter's drifting snow ; 
The matrons grave discourse of loom and dairy ; 
Apart, the hardy youth, as well they might. 
Bend, listening, to the songs of blue-eyed Mary. 
" The beggar had his jest," and with delight 
The rapid hours passed by, till sunset's golden flight. 



The quiet eve hath come ; the evening star 
Renews his bright, but solitary beam ; 
The moon ascending in her silver car. 
Again diffuses o'er the earth her gleam. 
And now, before they seek the pillow's rest, 
The song, the mirth, and conversation's din 
Give place to household worship, season blest. 
The good old man doth read the Word Divine, 
And all, with reverent hearts, in supplication join. 



101 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

XXIII. 

There was divine enchantment in his prayer; 
His soul was touched, as if with heavenly fire. 
He, who in worldly things did hardly dare 
To lift his thoughts and conversation higher, 
Than the poor marks of earth, and place, and time. 
His fields and herds, his fences and his plough, 

. Finds fitting words, and many a thought sublime. 
Whene'er in holy worship he doth bow, 

And at Jehovah's throne his hope and faith avow. 

XXIV. 

He giveth thanks, that, though another year 
Hath rolled away to dark eternity, 
So many of them live ; so many here. 
Beneath his roof, each other's faces see. 
But she, who graced the last Thanksgiving day, 
The child beloved, the daughter of his heart — 
His Sarah — is 7io more! And he doth pray. 
Though sudden was the blow, and keen the smart, 
That they may humbly show submission's quiet part, 

XXV. 

He pleadeth for himself, his children, wife ; 
His supplication is, whate'er their lot. 
That in the duties and the griefs of life. 
Their great Creator ne'er may be forgot. 
He prays for one upon the ocean tost. 
For Joseph on the wide and boundless sea, 
Where many a helpless sailor lad is lost. 
That in Jehovah's favor he may be, 
\nd with glad eyes again his native country see. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 105 



And then his mind to other themes awake, 
Which by the Christian volume have been taught, 
A higher and a nobler flight doth take, 
And up to heavenly mansions lifts its thought; 
Upon celestial hills his soul doth stand. 
There shine the angel ranks, supremely bright, 
With starry crow^ns, and happy harps in hand; 
And there, in those abodes of blessed delight. 
When sinks the world in fire, shall all Christ's friends unite. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 



[If liberty has done much for our country, religion has done more. 
Among those who cultivate the soil, especially in the more retired 
rural districts, there is very generally a recognition of God, a love for 
the Sabbath and the Bible, and much of the spirit of humble prayer. 
Among the happiest seasons of my life have been those in which I have 
knelt at the social altar, with the farmer and his family, in the strength 
and spirit of Christian faith. It is in the hope of encouraging and 
strengthening this spirit, that the religious pieces in this work are 
introduced.] 



PENITENCE. 

0, SAY when errors oft and black 
Have deeply stained the innnost soul, 

Who then shall call the wanderer back. 
Who make the broken spirit whole ? 

Who give the tortured and depressed 

The grateful balm, that soothes to rest ? 

When storms are driven across the sky, 
The rainbow decks the troubled clouds. 

And there is one, whose love is nigh, 

Where grief annoys and darkness shrouds; 

He '11 stretch abroad his bow of peace, 

And bid the storm and tempest cease. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 107 

Then go, vain world, 't is time to part. 
Too long and darkly hast thou twined 

Around this frail, corrupted heart. 
And poisoned the immortal mind ; 

O, I have known the pangs that spring 

From pleasure's beak and folly's sting. 

Hail, prince of heaven ! Hail, bow of rest ! 

0, downward scatter mercy's ray. 
And all the darkness of my breast 

Shall quickly turn to golden day. 
With Thee is peace ; no griefs annoy ; 
And tears are grateful gems of joy. 



0, WHAT A FEARFUL THING IT IS. 

0, WHAT a fearful thing it is, 
That, from the better way, 

Attracted by illusive bliss, 
We love to go astray. 

At first we slightly turn aside. 
Nor think to travel long. 

But more and more we wander wide. 
And more and more go wrong. 

O, poor and erring wanderer, stay . 

Nor thus forsake thy God ; 
With hasty step regain the way 

Thine earlier footsteps trod. 



108 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

O, happy he, who loves to weep 
With penitential tears, 

And thus has strength divine to keep 
His path in coming years. 



THE LIGHT IS RISING O'ER THE SKY. 

The light is rising o'er the sky : 
The dews are fading from the hill ; 

But where 's the joyous light to dry 
The tears, that from my heart distil ? 

Tears, deep and hidden in their spring ; — 
And well may those who weep despair, 

If there 's no sun or star to bring 

Some ray of hope and comfort there. 

E'en when thou speakest, see the light, 
sinner, brighter than the day ; 

And let the beam that cheers thy sight. 
Its gladness to thy heart convey. 

When angels sang " good will to men," 
Its splendor shone o'er Bethlehem's plain; 

And shining now as bright as then, 
It cheers the mourning soul agam. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS, 109 



DELIVERANCE IN CHRIST. 

Long did the clouds and darkness roll 
Around my troubled breast ; 

No starlight shone upon my soul, 
My footsteps found no rest. 

To human help I looked around, 

But vainly sought relief; 
No balm of Gilead I found. 

No healing for my grief. 

Then to the Saviour's help I cried ; 

He listening heard my prayer ; 
I saw his wounded hands and side, 

And felt that hope was there. 

He guides me in the better way ; 

He makes my footsteps strong ; 
The gloomy night is changed to day. 

And sadness changed to song. 



GOD THE UNFAILING SOURCE OF LOVE. 

O Thoit, who giv'st the true desire, 
Thyself the only source of love. 

Within our humble hearts inspire 
Affections, springing from above. 

10 



110 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

As transient as the morning dew, 
Earth's love imparts its joys in vain, 

But those, who drink the fountain true, 
The dews of life, thirst not again. 

Why then should men with watchful eye 
The treasure seek which is not given ? 

The cisterns of the earth are dry, 

Perennial flow the draughts of heaven. 

O Thou, who giv'st the true desire, 
Thyself the only source of love, 

Within our humble hearts inspire 
Affections, springing from above. 



ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Say not, 't is all a dreary way, 

With rocks beset, with briers growmg. 

Where never beams of sunlight stray. 
And ne'er a gentle stream is flowing. 

Or, if it be, that thou dost go 

Through scenes so darksome, wild, and frightful, 
Yet there is one who loves thee so. 

That he can make e'en this delightful. 

Jesus is ever near at hand, 

To aid, to guide, and to deliver, 
With his own arm, the chosen band 

Which he hath bought, to keep forever. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. Ill 

Then drive away thy doubts and fears, 
Nor dread the ills that threat to hurt thee ; 

For Christ, that saw thee in thy tears. 
Hath said, He never will desert thee. 



BIRD OF THE HEAVENS, GO 

Bird of the heavens, go I 

Thy nature bids thee rise ! 
I will not keep thee here below, 

Fair tenant of the skies ! 
O, see how quick he lifts his wing ! 
See how he rises ! Hear him sing ! 

Thus Christ hath done for thee, 
Made, like the bird, to soar ; 

man, he seeks to set thee free ; — 
Haste ! Do not linger more. 

Thou too, redeemed, hast power to rise ; 

O, stay not from thy native skies. 



THINK NOT THAT THE BLEST. 

Think not that the blest, whom the Lord hath befriended, 
Though scorned by the world, and though smitten with 
grief, 

Will be left by the arm, that has once been extended. 
To suffer and perish without its relief. 



112 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

O, no ! When the clouds of affliction and sorrow 
Encircle their souls with the darkness of night, 

Thy mercy, oh God, like the sun of to-morrow. 

Shall gleam on the shadows and turn them to light. 

He leaves us awhile to the billow's commotion, 
To see if our faith in the storm will remain ; 

But soon He looks out in his smiles, and the ocean 
Is hushed from i^^s threats, and is quiet again. 



JEHOVAH, SOVEREIGN OF MY HEART. 

Jehovah, sovereign of my heart ! 

My joy by night and day ! 
From Thee, oh, may I never part. 

From Thee ne'er go astray. 

Whene'er allurements round me stand, 
And tempt me from my choice ; 

O, let me find thy gracious hand, 
O, let me hear thy voice. 

This vain and feeble heart, I know, 
To worldly ways is prone ; 

But penitential tears shall show. 
There 's joy in Thee alone. 

With God all darkness turns to day; 

With Him all sorrows flee ; 
Thou art the true and living way. 

And I will walk in Thee. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 



0, COULD I RULE MY ERRING THOUGHT. 

O, COULD I rule my erring thought, 
Each wrong desire subdue; 

And serve my Maker as I ought, 
And thou vvouldst have me do. 

O, could I discipline my mind. 
To seek the heavenly goal ; 

Nor strive, in earthly things, to find 
A treasure for the soul. 

Then should my lips no more complain, 
('Tis sin that makes my grief;) 

But Thou, that givest ease for pain, 
Would'st quickly bring relief. 

Ascendant over time and sense, 
My feet would upward move. 

Protected by thy Providence, 
Rejoicing in thy love. 



113 



MAN'S SPIRIT HATH AN UPWARD LOOK. 

Man's spirit hath an upward look, 

And robes itself with heavenly wings ; 

E'en when 't is here compelled to brook 
Confinement to terrestrial things. 
10-^ 



114 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Its eye is fastened on the skies ; 

Its wings for flight are opened wide ; 
Why doth it hesitate to rise ? 

And still upon the earth abide ? 

And would'st thou seek the cause to know, 
And never more its course repress ; 

Then from those wings their burden throw, 
And set them free from worldliness. 

Shake off the earthly cares that stay 
Their energy and upward flight ; 

And thou shalt see them make their way 
To joy, and liberty, and light. 



THE SECRET SIGN. 



They know Him by the secret sign. 
Which to their souls is given; 

'T is written there in light divine, 
With characters from heaven. 

They may not tell it ; but 't is there. 

Forever deep impressed ; 
Nor grief, nor pain, nor sharp despair. 

Shall rend it from their breast. 

The child the parent's accent knows, 

The accents ever dear ; 
Unlike the treacherous voice of foes, 

That fills his heart with fear. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 115 

He runs to meet it ; and it falls 

In blessings and in joys ; 
And thus whene'er the Saviour calls, 

His people know his voice. 

They know Him by the secret sign, 

Which to their souls is given ; 
'T is written there in light divine, 

With characters from "heaven. 



CHRIST OUR REFUGE. 



Dark is the watery way 

Of life's tempestuous sea: 
And none, oh Christ, are safe, but thev. 

Who put their trust in Thee. 

Loud is the stormy wind ; 

The seamen are afraid ; 
But those shall strength and mercy find, 

Whose souls on Christ are stayed. 

The winds they do not fear. 
Nor dread the thunder's noise; 

The Saviour's cheering voice they hear, 
And evermore rejoice. 

It is our Saviour's skill, 

Our Saviour's arm of might, 

Which guides the tossing ship at will, 
And puts our fears to flight. 



116 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Praise to the Pilot's power, 
Praise to the Pilot's hand, 

That faithful most in danger's hour, 
Shall bring us safe to land. 



THOU GIVER OF THE RISING LIGHT. 



Thou Giver of the rising light, 

Thou Author of the morning ray ; 
At whose command the shades of night 

Are changed to bright and sudden day ; 
Thou too canst rend the clouded heart, 

Enveloped in the shades of sin ; 
And let the light, that dwelt apart, 

The glory and the gladness in. 

n. 

God, our Father and our Friend, 

Dark is the cloud that wraps us now ; 
But not in vain our prayers ascend. 

Nor hopeless at thy feet we bow. 
'T is in the dark distressing hour, 

That thou dost hear thy people's cry ; 
And come and clothe them in thy power, 

And hide them in thy majesty. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 1 17 



DESIRE FOR HEAVEN. 

My heart is in a land afar, 

Unseen by mortal eyes ; 
A clime, that needs nor moon nor star, 

A land of cloudless skies. 

They tell me, that the earth is bright. 

And 1 have pleasures here ; 
But still, in that far land of light, 

Are pleasures yet more dear. 

O, that I had an angel's wing, 

To bear me hence away; 
Where virtue blooms with endless spring, 

And love shall ne'er decay. 

My heart is in that land afar. 

Unseen by mortal eyes ; 
A clime that needs nor moon nor star, 

A land of cloudless skies. 



CONSOLATION IN SORROW. 

Although affliction smites my heart. 
And earthly pleasures flee, 

There is one bliss that ne'er shall part, 
^y PY' oh God, in thee. 



118 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

That joy is like the orb of day, 
When clouds its track pursue ; 

The shades and darkness throng its way, 
But sunlight struggles through. 

O Thou, my everlasting light, 
On whom my hopes rely ; 

With Thee the darkest path is bright, 
And fears and sorrows die. 



WILT THOU, OH MY FATHER, LEAVE ME? 

Wilt Thou, oh my Father, leave me ? 

Still I '11 bless thy holy will ; 
I may lose, but will not grieve Thee ; 

I will love thee still. 

Long and sharply dost Thou chide me ; 

I am filled with grief and shame ; 
But I have no joy beside Thee, 

Loving still the same. 

Like the sun-flower ever turning 
Meekly to the skies its face ; 

Still my heart for thee is burning, 
Though Thou hid'st thy grace. 

Thus my Father heard me praying; 

Drawing near, once more He smiled ; 
Joyfully I heard Him saying, 

Thou art still my child. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 1 IS 

I did leave thee but to try thee ; 

Trying, I have found thee mine ; 
Now I always will be nigh thee ; 

All 1 have is thine. 



THEY SAY THEIR PATH WITH FLOWERS IS STROWN 



They say, their path with flowers is strown, 

And all their way is bright ; 
But as for me, I walk alone, 

Encircled with the night. 
But do not think my joy the less. 

O, no ! I love to be 
Abandoned, in my helplessness, 

To deep obscurity. 



I love the thunder's voice to hear, 

And see the lightnings play; 
I smile, when many a danger near 

Comes thronging round my way. 
'T is then all human help is vain, 

All human hopes o'erthrown • 
And in my great necessity, 

I rest in God alone. 



120 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



ENmiY OF THE HEART. 



If there is sunshine in the face, 

And joy upon the brow, 
Do not suppose that there 's a trace 

Of answering joy below. 

And what avails the outward light, 

Upon the face the smile, 
If all within is dark as night. 

If all is dead the while ? 

Deep in the heart the evil lies, 
Which nought on earth can cure. 

Aversion to the only Wise, 
To God, the only Pure. 

O Thou, who giv'st the heart renewed 

Withhold it not from me. 
That, all my enmity subdued, 

I may rejoice in Thee. 



JESUS HAS GONE ON HIGH. 

Jesus has gone on hi^h : 

His trials o'er; 
He shall not toil nor weep, 

Nor suffer more. 
But in his place of rest 

Be always blest. 



;oTTAGE HVMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 121 

But I, unlike to him, 

(My toils not done,) 
Raise not the glorious hymn 

Of victory won ; 
But still am doomed to know 

The hour of woe. 

Yes ! I will suffer on, 

Until that day. 
When thou, to glory gone. 

At length shalt say : — 
Loved one ! come home to be 

At rest with me. 

O, happy, happy hour ! 

O, blessed home ! 
When seated at thy side, 

I shall not roam ; 
Nor evermore have fears, 

Nor mourn in tears. 



THE SONG OF THE ANGELS. 



The star was bright o'er Bethlehem's plain. 
The shepherds watched their fleecy train, 
When sudden gleamed the sky ; the tongue 
Of angel bands in concert sung. 
"Peace and good will to men," their song, 
" Good will," while ages roll along ; 
The Saviour comes, let nations hear, 
Be hushed each grief, be wiped each tear. 
11 



122 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

II. 

No more shall war bear iron sway, 
Vengeance and wrath shall pass away ; 
Oppression bind no more its chain, 
And gladness dwell on earth again. 
The song, that charmed in Eden's bovver, 
Shall breathe once more its soothing power ; 
And peace, and praise, and truth shall bless 
The world with hope and loveliness. 



IF THERE E'ER WAS A TIME. 

If there e'er was a time of rejoicing, 't was then 

When we first broKe asunder the shackles that bound us 

And walked in a freedom more blest than of men, 

For the smiles of the Saviour were scattered around us. 

Drawn forth from the shades of our prison, we deemed 
All nature resplendent with light and with beauty ; 

And oft, in the glow of our feelings, it seemed 
We ne'er could be wanting in love and in duty. 

And shall it be said, that our souls cease to love ? 

And shall we forget so transcendent a blessing? 
Dear Saviour, look down from thy mansions above. 

And from moment to moment bestow thy refreshing. 

'T is in Thee that we live ; Thou didst give us our life. 

'T is in Thee that we hope ; let thy banner be o'er us. 
Unless Thou dost aid us, we fail in the strife. 

But with Thee every foe shall be driven before us. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SOXGS. 123 



WHEN FIRST I STARTED ON MY WAY. 

When first I started on my way, 

I thought my love would ne'er decline. 

My Saviour often heard me say, 

" I live for Thee." " I 'm wholly thine." 

But sudden, in the strife and press 
Of cares around my path that came, 

I found affection growing less ; 
Alive, but with a weaker flame. 

Starting I wept, but heard at length, 
A voice within which seemed to say. 

In Him thou lovest there is strength 
For those whose feet have gone astray. 

Dear Saviour ! Turn me from the chase 
Of worldly aims, of worldly bliss ; 

And let me see once more the face, 
Which once made all my happiness. 



VANITY OF EARTHLY EXPECTATIONS. 

The autumn leaves, descending fast. 
Are rent and scattered by the blast ; 

But not more sure they press the earth, 
Than fall the hopes of human birth. 

See earthly pleasures pass away. 
See health and loveliness decay. 

And friendship's pledge, so warmly spoken, 
No sooner made, than coldly broken. 



124 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

0, place no expectations here, 

To find them crushed, however dear ; — 

If thou canst trust the morning dew, 
Then hope to find earth's promise true. 

But live and look for that far clime, 
Beyond the spheres of earth and time, 

Where hopes that bloom shall perish never, 
But bright to-day, are bright forever. 



EARTH SENT HER STREAMS FROM ROCK AND HILL 

Earth sent her streams from rock and hill, 
The fancied streams of earthly bliss ; 

And called upon her sons to fill 
The foaming cup of happiness. 

They drank it; — but it had no power 
To quench the fever of the mind ; — 

Or, if it calmed it for an hour, 
It left an added sting behind. 

And thus she ever leads to wrong 

The souls of sensual joys that dream ; 

But flattered and deceived too long, 
0, haste to quit her sparkling stream. 

And grateful think, whilst thou again 
Canst never taste what earth bestows, 

'Tis given thy thirsty lips to drain 

The sunny fount from heaven that flows. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 125 



ENTIRE CONSECRATION. 

If men of earth, for earth's renown, 

Are willing long to wait or toil, 
Nor shrink to lay existence down 

Upon the war-field's bloody soil ; — 

If there is nought they'll not endure, 
If there is nought they will not dare. 

To make their hopes, their purpose sure. 
Their wealth to gain, their wreath to wear ; 

O, say, shall we, who bear a name 
That intimates our heavenly birth. 

Behold our efforts put to shame. 

When placed beside the zeal of earth ? 

'T is Jesus calls. For his dear sake. 
If they their all for earth have given, 

O, let us haste his cross to take. 

And give our hearts, our all for heaven. 



RESOURCE IN TEMPTATION. 

My Saviour ! Wilt thou leave me now. 
When sharp temptations round me throng? 

All other helps have failed — and thou 
Alone canst hope and truth prolong. 
11# 



126 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Tempted ; — but can I turn away, 

And give my thoughts to aught but thee? 

0, let me die ; but ne'er betray 
My pledge of truth and constancy. 

I know that sorrow has its power, 
I know that pleasure has its charm ; 

But oft the least propitious hour 
Beholds the triumph of thine arm. 

0, who or what shall lead to sin, 

Whate'er its power, whate'er its art — 

So long as Christ is King within. 

And binds his being round my heart ^ 



SORROW THE NURSE OF LOVE. 

O God, Thou heard'st my early vow, 
( 'T was sacred then, 't is sacred now,) 
The vow which promised to fulfil, 
With Thee to aid me, all thy will. 

Resigning all the soul held dear. 

It pledged Thee, with a heart sincere, 

Never, oh, never, to incline 

To plan or choice, which was not Thine. 

And Thou hast put me to the test 
In times and ways Thou thoughtest best ; 
But He, who smote me, gave the power 
To conquer in the trying hour. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 127 

When sickness Thou didst on me send, 
When Thou didst take each dearest friend ; 
I found, in spoiling earthly bliss, 
Thou mad'st Thyself ray happiness. 

My earthly loss, my earthly pain, 
Was changed to joy and heavenly gain; 
And thou didst grieve me but to prove, 
That sorrow is the nurse of love. 



I KNOW, OH GOD, THAT DANGERS NEAR. 

I KNOW, oh God, that dangers near 

Are thick on every side ; 
But Thou hast taught me not to fear, 

With thy dear hand to guide. 

What altered purpose, what decay, 
What turning from the right, 

To God's great heart can find its way, 
And change the Infinite ? 

If earth's affections treacherous prove, 

If earthly bonds are riven. 
There still remains a higher love, 

Unchangeable as heaven. 

The sun his shining way may leave, 

The ocean leave the shore ; 
The sun no more the day to give. 

The sea to heave no more. 



128 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

But Thou, more lasting than the sea, 
More certain than the sun, 

Canst break no bonds of unity, 
When hearts with Thee are one. 



POWER OF HOLY LOVE. 

The soul, that loves Thee, cannot fear ; 

Terror is conquered by desire ; 
For Thee it leaves each object here, 

And seeks Thee with its wing of fire. 

Kejecting pleasure, hating rest. 
It counts for loss its highest gain. 

Till of its Lord once more possessed, 

With Thee it lives, with Thee doth reign. 

See how the things of lower birth. 
How joy and care perplex its way ! 

It spurns them, as it spurns the earth. 
And upward seeks the realms of day. 

One object occupies its gaze ; 

No other can it seek or see ; 
Till plunging in the central blaze. 

It finds itself at home with Thee. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 129 



THE THORNY DIADEM. 

O, BREATHE not to my soul the name 
Of joys that bear the mark of earth ; 

What bond or likeness can they claim 
With souls that have a heavenly birth ? 

Like snows, that melt beneath the sun, 
Like flowers thrown heedless on the river. 

They shine a moment, then are gone, 
A moment here, then flown forever. 

no ! We cannot stop for them; 

Not joys, not crowns would suit us now ; 
We ask the thorny diadem 

Which bound the Saviour's bleeding brow. 



THOU CHIDEST, BUT THOU DOST NOT KNOW. 

[Written on the suggestion of a friend, that tliose who have labored 
long in the cause of Christ should rest, and let others work.] 

Thou chidest, but thou dost not know 
How fixed the purpose of that mind, 

Which, having strength in God, can throw 
All earthly aims and plans behind. 



130 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

'T is true, thy hand would wipe the tear, 
And spread the pillow for my brow; 

But oh, believe me : 't is not here 
That rest doth come ; it is not now. 

May Heaven reward thee ! But in vain 
Shall human voice, though sweet as thine, 

The purpose of the heart restrain, 
Which listens to a voice divine. 



HOW HAPPY IS THE PEACEFUL BREAST! 

Hew happy is the peaceful breast, 
No agitating- strife that knows ; — 

Through which the stream of holy rest 
In one unbroken current flows ! 

To few, alas, that rest is given ; — 
And who can claim it as his own, 

But he, who makes his heart a heaven, 
And seats Jehovah on its throne ? 

Jehovah ! Sovereign of the soul ! 

He has no throne but that within ; 
And grief and strife can ne'er control. 

Where God destroys the reign of sin. 

'T is sin, that agitates the mind, 

While sorrow, like the clouded sky. 

Illumined soon, leaves nought behind, 
But fields of light and purity. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELItrlOUS SONGS. 131 



LOVE ! THOU DAY-STAR OF MY HEART 

O LOVE ! thou day-star of my heart ! 

Ascend upon thy throne ! 
Victor and lord, where'er thou art, 
To all within the power impart, 

Of life to God alone. 

Such is the magic of thy sway 

Upon the holy mind; 
That sin, all powerless in thy ray, 
Departs, as night-shades flee the day, 

And leaves no cloud behind. 

My soul was dark in other years , 

The stain was on my brow ; 
And something whispers to my fears 
The loss of all but sin and tears. 
If thou shouldst leave me now. 

But fears are gone, and tears are bright 

Lit with the beams of love : 
There is no sin, nor grief, nor night 
To him, whose inmost soul is light 
With radiance from above. 



132 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



TRIUMPH IN DEATH. 



On earth when the journey allotted us closes, 

When the hour and the moment of parting are near, 

If a gleam on that parting of mercy reposes, 
O wish not, oh think not, to fasten us here. 

'T is true, there is strength in the ties which endear us. 
And bind us so closely to things here below; 

But bright is the land where no sin can come near us, 
And bliss is disturbed by no moments of woe. 

Then joy to the soul, that is ripe for ascending, 
And breathe not a sigh that shall tempt it to stay, 

When angels in triumph its flight are attending. 
And Bethlehem's star is the light of its way. 



QUIETNESS OF SPIRIT REFLECTED IN THE LIFE. 

When from the heart its ills are driven, 
And God restored, resumes control, 

The outward life becomes a heaven, 
As bright as that within the soul. 

Where once was pride, and stern disdain, 
And acts expressing fierce desire ; 

The eye, that closest looks, in vain 
Shall seek the trace of nature's fire. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. VS't. 

No flame of earth, no passion now, 
Has left its scorching mark behind ; 

But lip, and cheek, and radiant brow, 
Reflect the brightness of the mind. 

For where should be the signs of sin. 
When sin itself has left the breast ; 

When God alone is Lord within. 
And perfect faith gives perfect rest. 



TO FREEDOM FROM THE EARLIEST DAYS. 

To freedom from the earliest days, 

The soul of poetry has given 
The tribute of its mighty lays, 

A note that had its breath from heaven 

Nations have started at its call ; 

And not a heart and not a hand 
Was absent from the living wall 

That rose around the bleeding land. 

And yet, which gives the greatest pain ? 

The links the outward man that bind 
Or that unseen but galling chain. 

Which subjugates the sinful mind ? 

O Sinner ! If there 's truth and power 

In all that calls us to be free, 
Awake ! 'T is now the day, the hour ! 

Arise, assert thy liberty ! 
12 



134 



AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



A LITTLE BIRD I AM.* 

A LITTLE bird I am, 

Shut from the fields of air; 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To Him, who placed me there ; 
Well pleased a prisoner to be, 
Because, my God, it pleases Thee. 

Nought have I else to do ; 

I sing the whole day long; 
And He, whom most I love to please. 

Doth listen to my song; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing, 
But still he bends to hear me sing. 

Thou hast an ear to hear; 

A heart to love and bless ; 
And, though my notes were e'er so rude. 

Thou wouldst not hear the less. 
Because thou knowest, as they fall, 
That love, sweet love, inspires them all. 

My cage confines me round ; 

Abroad I cannot fly ; 
But, though my wing is closely bound. 

My heart's at liberty. 
My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom of the soul. 

* Translated from a poem of Madam Guyon, written when she was 
in prison. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 135 

O, it is good to soar, 

These bolts and bars above, 
To Him, whose purpose I adore ; 

Whose providence I love ; 
And in thy mighty will to find 
The joy, the freedom of the mind. 



THE TRUE REST. 

'T IS not in vain the mind, 
By many a tempest driven, 

Shall seek a resting place to find, 
A calm like that of heaven. 

The weak one and dismayed, 
Scarce knowing where to flee, 

How happy when he finds the aid, 
That comes alone from Thee. 

In Thee, oh God, is rest ; — 
Rest from the world's desires. 

From pride that agitates the breast, 
From passion's angry fires. 

In Thee is rest from fear. 

That brings its strange alarm, 

And sorrow, with its rising tear, 
Thou hast the power to calm. 



136 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



REMEMBRANCE IN PRAYER. 



When at the hour of prayer thy heart 
The fervor of its love discovers, 
In secret as thou kneel'st apart, 
And many an angel round thee hovers, 
O, then remember me ! 

When dow^n thy cheeks the tear-drops roll, 
Of gratitude for sins forgiven, 
And thou dost feel within thy soul, 
A ray of joy just sent from heaven, 
O, then remember me ! 

For who, that sees thee trembling, kneeling, 
Or may thy meek entreaties hear. 
To Heaven so fervently appealing, 
Will not believe that God is near ? 
O, then remember me I 

Ask not for earthly pomp, or pleasure ; 
A humble, meek, and holy heart 
To me is far a greater treasure. 
Than earth's vain glories can impart. 
O, thus remember me ! 



m PRISON, WHEN THE EARLY SAINTS. 

In prison, when the early saints 

Wore despotism's chains, 
'T was faith that silenced their complaints, 

In solacing their pains. 



COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. 137 

Not that they had no power to feel, 

No sense of wrong, no tears ; 
But God was near, their griefs to heal, 

And dissipate their fears, 

'T is unbelief, that gives its smart, 

Its anguish to the rod ; 
Grief has no terror for the heart, 

That puts its trust in God. 

" Only believe ! " * and thou shalt know, 

To every ill resigned, 
"Whatever strength may wield the blow. 

If leaves no wound behind. 



THE MYSTIC DOVE. 



[" And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from 
heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him." — John 1 : 32.] 

The mystic Dove has found its nest; 

Its snowy wings are folded there ; 
Within the pure, the peaceful breast, 

Where faith and praise are joined to prayer. 

Long did the weary wanderer roam ; 

But scared from scenes of strife and fear. 
Its panting bosom found a home. 

In hearts to truth and virtue dear. 

Mark 5 : 36. 

12* 



138 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

And if it took thee long to find, 

O, haste not from thy home to stir ; — 

But nestling in the holy mind, 
Cease not to be its comforter. 

The soul that claims thee, bright with love, 
Is beautiful as thine own skies ; — 

Fear not, dear stranger from above, 
Fly not, sweet bird of Paradise. 



THE DIVINE LIFE. 



[" But he, that is joined to the Lord, is one spirit." — 1 Cor. 6 : 17.] 

O, SACRED union with the Perfect Mind ! 
Transcendent bliss, which Thou alone canst give I 
How blest are they, this pearl of price who find, 
And dead to earth, have learnt in Thee to live. 

Thus, in thine arms of love, oh God, I lie. 
Lost, and forever lost, to all but Thee. 
My happy soul, since it hath learnt to die, 
Hath found new life in thine Infinity. 

0, go, and learn this lesson of the Cross ; 
And tread the way, which saints and prophets trod, 
Who, counting life, and self, and all things loss, 
Have found in inward death the life of God. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 

PART FIRST. 

Contents. — Introduction. — Cowper on seeing the portrait of his 
mother. — Recollections of maternal love and care. — A scene in 
the nursery. — The schoolmistress. — Saturday afternoon. — Field 
sports. — The oaken grove. — The imprisoned robins. — Tlie bower. 
— A scene in Autumn. — Thanksgiving day. — The farmer. — Re- 
flections. — The river Cocheco. — Old Richards, the miller. — River 
sports. — The solitary grandam. — The story of Lucy Wilson. — 
The conclusion. 



When fearless seamen spread the journeying sail, 
And bear away beneath the welcome gale, 
To brave, o'er ocean's waste, with hardy form. 
The smiting sun, the billow, and the storm. 
Though firm their courage, oft their hearts they find 
Filled with the thoughts of those they left behind ; 
And, as the ocean widens, turn their eye. 
To catch once more their native hills and sky. 
Where'er they go, whatever climes they roam. 
They fondly think of country, friends, and home; 
Repeating in each mess-mate's listening ear. 
How maids and matrons shed the parting tear, 
And in the visions of the night review 
The cherished scenes, where many a joy they knew. 

Remembrance thus in life's decline endears 
The home, and scenes, and sports of earlier years, 
Back o'er the tide of time we cast our eye, 
And 'neath its gaze enchanted regions lie ; 



140 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

We see once more, with fondness unexpressed, 

The light of early days, and call them blessed. 

Sweet days ! When life was undisturbed by care, 

And busy hope made every vision fair ; 

When, passing swiftly by, the frolic hours 

Welcomed and crowned each scene with songs and flowers I 

Yes ! That blessed Power, which hath the art to bring 

Departed joys and visions on its wing, 

Shall from oblivion's mist their beam restore. 

Each faded line and tint repair once more. 

And giving to them form, and life, and truth, 

Hold up to Age the mirror of its Youth. 

'T was thus, when storms had gathered on his way, 
And hope and pleasure dimmed their feeble ray. 
His swimming gaze the gentle Cowper bent 
Upon his mother's pictured lineament, 
As late in life into his hands it came, 
With lips and smile, as when she lived, the same.* 
His vigils o'er the portrait long he kept, 
And, as he viewed it, thought, remembered, wept ; 
For Fancy, quickened by his feelings' strife. 
Brought that dear mother's form and love to life, 
Revealed her kindness in the days gone by. 
Which shielded, and which blessed his infancy; 
Her " nightly visits to his chamber made," 
That she might see him safe and warmly laid ; 
The fond solicitude, that " saw him wrapped 
In scarlet mantle, warm, and velvet capped," 

* See the beautiful poem of Cowper on the receipt of his mother's 
picture from Norfolk, beginning, 

" O that those lips had language ! Life hath passed 
With me but rouglily since I saw thee last." 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 141 

And with the gardener Robin, dny by day, 
Sent him to scliool along the public way. 

I too admit a mother's sacred claim, 

I too would consecrate that matchless name, 

And like the bard of Olney strive to pay 

The grateful honors of my humble lay. 

How oft the picture rises to my view, 

Fresh as at first its hues, distinct, and true ! 

How oft, in solitude's creative hour, 

When thought and feeling own a quickened power, 

I sit in pensive silence and retrace 

Each well-known feature, each attractive grace ; 

Her silent grief, when those she loved went wrong. 

Her smile, her kindly words, her voice of song I 

All else may fail, all other joys may die, 

And leave the fount of hope and feeling dry, 

But life nor death shall from my bosom tear 

A mother's looks, her kindness, and her care ; 

That care, which further back than memory goes 

Heightened my early joys, or soothed my woes. 

When life was new, and scarce my infant sight 
With a strange joy had opened on the light. 
She watched my cradle, wiped the starting tear 
And soothed with mellowed song my infant ear. 
There, as she sat, in Fancy's forming eye. 
The doubtful future passed in vision by. 
That sometimes cast its brightness o'er my way, 
But oftener veiled in clouds the favoring ray. 
And then, alarmed with all a mother's fears. 
She looked to Him, a mother's voice that hears, 



142 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

And prayed, with faith and feeling unrepressed, 
That He, who stills the raven's hungry nest, 
That He, who knows, and who alone can know 
The sins and sorrows of this world of woe, 
Would guide her child in life's uncertain way. 
Nor let temptation lead his steps astray. 

Soon as my infant footsteps dared explore, 
(No trifling journey then,) the nursery floor, 
She reached her hand, and standing constant by, 
My progress watched with fond and curious eye ; 
And when at last I reached the destined goal, 
Nor could but laugh aloud with joy of soul. 
She shared my triumphs, and bent down to bless 
My joyous brow with many a warm caress. 
That care, it knew no bound ; that love, no end ; 
Where'er I went, her guardian steps attend. 
Till in my crimson frock, and bonnet fine. 
Where the first gathered rose was taught to shine, 
Thoughtless, my way to yonder school I take. 
Loaded with kisses, (what was more,) with cake. 

And thou, the Mistress of bur little school, 

For age revered, and wisely skilled to rule, 

From whom our minds their infant knowledge drew, 

As flowers from vernal skies imbibe the dew. 

Though many years have passed since then, art not 

By all thy little company forgot ; 

Still on our hearts thy virtues have a claim. 

Still dwells upon our tongues thine honored name. 

When we began, in learned order set. 
With eye and finger on the alphabet. 
The task, (a mighty task it seemed to be,) 
To search the mysteries of A, B, C, 



DAYS OF YOUTH, 143 

We heard the changeless law, that not a look 
Should leave the pages of the spelling-book ; 
That none the seat assigned him should forsake, 
That none with whispers should the silence break ; 
Nor was it last or smallest in the code. 
Which ruled the realm of learning's young abode, 
That none should turn his luckless head awry. 
To watch a spider, or impound a fly. 

Enthroned upon her ancient elbow-chair. 

She swayed her sceptre, and dispensed her care ; 

She praised the boy, whose time was rightly spent, 

But woe to him on whom her frown was bent; 

Who dared her awful word to disobey. 

And what was meant for science give to play. 

Thrice hapless he, who tumbling sprawled the floor. 

Or sought with truant step the tempting door, 

Or, reckless of the pain and 1 itter tear, 

A bodkin thrust into his neighbor's ear. 

Ah me ! The wrinkles curled upon thy face. 

Thine eye flashed fire, and threatenings came apace ; 

Wrath shook thy cap ; more frightful than thy nod. 

Thine arm uplifted, waved the birchen rod. 

When time had flown, and consecrate to play, 

Arrived at last the joyous Saturday, 

Forth from the school with leap and shout we went, 

With youth inspired, on youthful pleasures bent; 

The favored space, which once a week could bless 

With freedom from our learned governess. 

No longer subjects of her sovereign law, 

Whose word controlled, whose ferule struck with awe, 

In various ways, for various ends we part, 

Joy on our lips, and transport in our heart ; 



144 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

We heard no more her tongue, nor feared her look, 
Nor o'er our heads the rod of terror shook. 

Lo ! o'er the fields with eager hand and eye, 
Some chase from flower to flower the butterfly : 
Or, shouting with the sharers in their play. 
The rapid hoop drive o'er the travelled way ; 
While others near the brook apply their skill. 
Watching the workings of their mimic mill, 
Or teach the kite high in the air to fly. 
And sweep the bosom of the boundless sky. 
Some sought the woods that distant caught the view, 
Or ranged with eager steps the valleys through ; 
Some gathered flowers, and the bright wreath prepare 
To weave into their young Narcissa's hair. 
While others climbed with fearless feet the hill, 
Light as the winds, and wanderers at will ; 
But chiefly loved our merry band to rove 
Where echoes answered from the Oaken Grove. 

Dear to my heart by strong unnumbered ties, 
By fond delights and blest remembrances, 
Those ancient oaks, with leaf and acorn crowned, 
That o'er my father's rugged acres frowned ; 
See, how aloft, in kingly pride they bear 
Their massy trunks and twisted arms in air, 
Still changeless in their strength and giant form, 
By suns unwithered, moveless in the storm. 
Beneath those arms, that venerable shade, 
Often my lingering footsteps have delayed. 
When early spring, in budding beauty gay, 
Awoke my heart, and smiled its cares away. 
In summer, too, that poured its sultry blaze, 
When flocks and herds sunk panting in its rays, 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 145 

I breathed the freshness of the cooling air, 
That nestled in the leaves and lingered there. 
But chiefly, when the sober autumn came, 
With languid suns, that gave their feeble flame, 
And sighing winds, with rude invasion, shook 
The clustering acorns from their leafy nook, 
I hastened forth, and with delighted toil, 
Collected at their feet the fallen spoil. 

Nor was this all. Still other ties invite. 

Where o'er our heads their knotted arms unite. 

'T was there, in early spring, the birds with care 

Their nests composed of gathered sticks and hair; 

'T was there I watched them fly from spray to spray. 

Or capture in the air their insect prey ; 

'Twas there, from branch to branch, their tuneful throat 

Poured forth the music of its sylvan note. 

And seated on some rock, I bent mine ear, 

The tribute of their warbled song to hear. 

Pleased with their chirp, bright eye, and speckled breast, 
One day I took two robins from their nest. 
And placed them in a cage. Upon a tree 
I hung the cage, and they sung mournfully. 
And hopped from side to side, as if they still 
Were thinking of their native wood and hill; 
When, lo ! the mother to their prison flew. 
And fed her young, as she was used to do, — 
Placing a worm within their beaks, and then 
She lit upon a branch, and poured her strain. 
As if to soothe their sorrows. Thus she came, 
And daily fed them, daily sung the same 
A thought at last rose in my childish heart ; 
It seemed to charge me with a cruel part ; 
13 



i46 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

If I were in a prison, what would be 

My mother's thoughts, my mother's griefs for me ! 

She, too, would come, would feed me, and would sing, 

And try all arts, some joy, some hope to bring 

To her poor boy. And oh, if I were free, 

How would she triumph in my liberty ! 

I wept, and not a reason needed more. 

But went at once, and oped the wiry door ; 

The little birds hopped from the open cage, 

And soaring on their airy pilgrimage, 

Poured forth their song to rocks and trees around, 

Till rocks and trees their warbled joys resouna. 

In those young days, when summer in its gleam 
Beckoned us forth to hill, and wood, and stream ; 
When, swinging on its branch, the little bird 
Trimmed its blue wing, and made its carol heard, 
Down in the valley by the river's side, 
We built the bower, and graced its arch of pride. 
Fair hands were busy, bloom and branch to bring, 
And all were present with their offering. 
Some lent their skill high in its top to twine 
The fragrant fern, the rose, the large-leaved vine ; 
Some gathered leaves and flowers, and o'er the ground, 
And sidelong benches, strew^ed their treasures round. 
The joyous stream bestowed its hoarse applause, 
To cheer our ardor in the mutual cause, 
Urging its curling wave with graceful sweep 
'Mid elms and vines, that clothed the valley deep. 
Our hearts were one ; the breath of worldly fame 
Had not yet blown our passions to a flame ; 
And envy was not felt. Each strove to be 
A source pf joy, and not of misery ; 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 147 

We saw no future ills, all griefs forgot, 
Blessing and blest, vve would not change our lot. 
There faithful hands were clasped, there songs arose, 
Till sober evening bade our pastimes close. 

That summer eve is passed ! The summer's bloom 

No longer yields its beauty and perfume. 

The joyous birds are gone ; their nests are bare. 

Hanging in leafless branches in the air. 

How changed is all around ! The autumn's gale 

Breathes from the moaning wood its joyless wail; 

The cattle, shivering in the fenceless fields, 

Nibble the poor repast the stubble yields ; 

The bleating sheep complain ; the flocks of crows, 

Cawing aloud, forebode impending snows. 

But though the day be cheerless, none the less 

It comes to gladden, harmonize, and bless. 

The day, when huts and cottages shall hold 

As much of bliss as if they gleamed with gold — 

Thanksgiving day, which, ere the year shall part, 

Returns to soothe the farmer's generous heart. 

Full well I knew him. Often when a boy, 
The farmer hailed me with a boisterous joy, 
Asked how I fared, and took me by the hand, 
And kindly led me o'er his well-tilled land. 
And showed his bleating sheep and lowing kine, 
Pride of the master's eyes, and joy of mine. 

To him, good man. Thanksgiving day ne'er came, 
Without a full observance of its claim ; 
For whether much or small he had to spare. 
He had enough to give the poor a share. 



148 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Who constant came, and never failed to meet 

The ready greeting, and the welcome seat. 

His decent home was on a rising place, 

Where nature showed her strength, but not her grace; 

And yet that rugged height the pear-tree crowned, 

And scattered beeches closed the mansion round. 

His garden gave its treasures; not in vain 

From ripened fields he drove his autumn wain; 

Huge stands his table; fruits and pies appear; 

The choicest products of the teeming year; 

Gathered around his loaded board, he sees 

His sturdy sons, his daughters " formed to please," 

Who, while the brothers felled the forest's bloom. 

Controlled, with busy hand, the noisy loom ; 

Susan, and Dick, and John, and dark-eyed Bess ; 

Proud heaves his heart with conscious happiness. 

Happy are those, whose hand and heart of fire 

Nature hath framed to rule the tuneful lyre; 

Whose souls can feel, whose powers of verse can tell 

The deep emotions in their hearts that swell. 

Alas for me ! Such praise I cannot claim. 

No epic heights resound my humble name; 

I do not ask the noisy world to hear, 

I do not seek the trained and courtly ear; 

The budding wreath, which they may bind, shall be 

The light for other brows, but not for me. 

But I will sit upon my native plain, 

And tune my pipe, and call the rustic train, 

Their lowly toils repeat, their griefs reveal, 

And tell the joys, which such alone can feel ; 

And, where Cocheco gently winds along, 

Renew to woods and rocks my rural song. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 149 

Cocheco's River! Fitter strains should sing, 

Than my poor note, thy gentle murmuring. 

Whispered through nodding birch and elm-trees hoar, 

Till down opposing rocks thy waters roar. 

If Burns were here, he would describe thee fair, 

As blooming Doon and bonny banks of Ayr ; 

In simple verse would tell the mingled charm 

Of woods and stream and cultivated farm, 

Of birds rejoicing in their leafy bowers. 

Of bees, " that hum around the breathing flowers," 

And many a cottage on thy banks should gain 

The heartfelt homage of his touching strain. 

Roll on, fair River ! Yield your torrents still, 
And turn, with vigorous sweep, Old Richard's mill. 
While others sing the men and deeds of fame, 
Be ours to consecrate Old Richard's name. 
For oft the aged miller at his hearth 
Detained our boyish troop with well-timed mirth ; 
Told us strange tales, nor waited to be pressed ; 
Laughing old man ! He loved the tale and jest. 
Strong was his arm, and while the mill went round, 
He hooped his pails and tubs with clattering sound. 
His long gray coat with dust was thick beset. 
His broad-brim hat was hat and epaulet. 
Nor was he all for jesting. In a trice 
He sober grew, and gave us sage advice ; 
With shake of head and keen; emphatic eye, 
Descanting loud on truth and honesty. 
But baffled oft to make his audience hear. 
When wheels and tubs and hammer claimed the ear, 
He raised his voice, and with its accents shrill, 
Defied the deafening clamor of his mill. 
13* 



150 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Loved waters ! Oft we spent the rapid hours 

Upon thy waves, and in thy leafy bowers ; 

And they were hours of quietude and bliss; 

No cloud of sorrow dimmed our happiness. 

See! On thy banks, where cautiously and slow 

The thirsty steer stoops to the wave below, 

The noisy group at idle length recline. 

While others aim the spear or wield the line. 

See ! In thy waves the daring band divide 

With skilful arm thine unresisting tide; 

Or guide with slender sail their dancing boat, 

And proudly o'er thy gentle waters float. 

Bright was thy summer's sun, and sweet the breeze, 

That chased the fragrance from thy clustered trees ; 

Green waved thine elms, with massy arms and strong; 

Loud from the alders burst the black-bird's song; 

While thrush and red-breast from the meadows gay, 

In merry groups, proclaimed their rival lay. 

And e'en, when chill and frozen winter came, 

Around thy banks we gathered still the same ; 

The rapid sled directed down the hill, 

Whose snowy brow o'er-topped the noisy mill. 

Or made the polished ice, thy waves that bound. 

With trampling feet and ringing skates resound. 

Stream of the mossy rock and sheltering tree !. 
Unknown to fame, but not unknown to me. 
Thought, retrospective, fondly lingers o'er 
The clifTs, the woods, the valleys of thy shore. 
Ye pensive haunts, to recollection dear ! 
One picture yet; I cannot leave you here; 
For e'en the dwellers of your vale and hill 
Find mingled, in their cup of joy, its ill ; 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 151 

And while they speak of bliss, their griefs at times 
Are breathed in simple, melancholy rhymes. 

Upon thy rugged banks there lived alone, 

An aged woman to the world unknown. 

She, hapless one, was sadly taught to know 

How frail are fairest prospects here below; 

How, in the time of bitterness and need. 

All human help is but a broken reed. 

Time was when she had friends ; but that was past, 

And all her griefs on higher aid were cast. 

"Wretched her hovel ; all her art and care 

Could scarce exclude the rain and searching air. 

She had a chair, a table, and a bed. 

And some poor things for making tea and bread. 

Daily she ranged each shady solitude, 

To gather withered leaves and sticks ot wood. 

To heap her lonely hearth. When gleaming high 

The stars were summoned to the evening sky, 

Beside her frugal fire, her hours were given 

To humble toil and fitting thoughts of heaven. 

Not seldom to that grandam's hut we drew, 

When sable evening clothed the hills from view ; 

She stopped the wheel, that twined her flaxen thread. 

She closed the Bible, whence she nightly read, 

And from the fruitful fount of former years 

Revealed the tale of sadness to our ears. 

'T was long ago, she said ; in that rude tmie, 
When first our fathers came from England's clime ; 
When households, in our frontier town, were few, 
And close and dark the forest round them grew. 
With busy hands the farmers cleared away 
The tangled woods, and oped them to the day ; 



152 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

They had no time in idleness to spare, 
But built their barns, the guarded house prepare ; 
Old men and young alike engaged in toil, 
With spade and plough to quell the rugged soil ; 
The maids obeyed the busy housewife's call, 
And Lucy Wilson gained the prize from all. 

The neighbors marked her ever cheerful face, 
The magic of her voice, her movement's grace , 
And with a glow of pride told o'er and o'er 
Her kindness to her parents old and poor. 
Like Lucy Wilson none, they said, could spin, 
And none like her could keep their cottage clean; 
None listened on the holy Sabbath day. 
With heart so fervent with devotion's ray ; 
None had such kindly looks and cheerfulness 
In disappointment, labor, and distress. 
Prompt to her daily toil with morning's gleam. 
Nor slack in duty with day's latest beam. 
One morn she went out with her milking pail, 
And the same song, that oft had cheered the vale ; 
It was a summer's morn ; the earliest beam 
Was scarce restored to tinted wood and stream ; 
And as she passed, her brightly floating hair 
Waved to the welcome of the joyful air. 
'T was the last time ; for fiercely raging war 
Had drawn the savage from his haunts afar; 
Men of hard heart and unrelenting eye. 
Unmoved by beauty and by sympathy ; 
And vvith that license cruel strife hath given. 
Their spears they hurled, and Lucy went to heaven. 

Such were the words that claimed the starting tear ; 
But other listeners now that story hear. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 

Yes, THERE ARE OTHERS NOW. In Fancy's eye 

I see them, as I saw in times gone by. 

With eager gaze, on the long winter night, 

They gather round the hearth's reviving light, 

To hear the grandam. At her wheel she sits, 

And rallies at their call her aged wits. 

And when bright spring has visited the vale. 

With bud and floweret nodding in the gale, ' 

Or summer scatters from her matron hand 

Plenty with beauty o'er the smiling land, 

And boys and girls these new enjoyments share, 

"T is not the group that came, when I was there. 

But I '11 rejoice, nor let my heart repine. 

That youthful hopes and joys no more are mine, 

And only pray, when bliss with them is o'er. 

And they, like me, shall taste those joys no more, 

That gratitude may linger to the last. 

To consecrate the pleasures that are past. 



153 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 

PART SECOND. 

Contents. — Introduction. — An excursion in the fields. — Poor AVill 
the beggar. — The pedlar's annual visit. — Youthful military exer- 
cises. — Reflections. — The farmer's return at evening from his fields. 

— The husking, with its legends and songs. — The blind musician. 

— The evening visit of the huntsman. — Melancholy reflections. — 
Character and death of a schoolmate. — Reminiscences of a sister 
who died in infancy. — Religious reflections. — The village pastor. — 
The gift of a Bible from my mother. — Departure from home. 



Alas, how ceaseless is life's silent tide I 

How rapidly its onward waters glide ! 

Not meads nor flowers, that crown its liquid way, 

Can check its course, and tempt its floods to stay. 

Fair blows the wind, and all my sails are set, 

The last blue wave heaves not its bosom yet; 

Pleasant companions and bright waves I find, 

But still I cast the lingering look behind. 

My busy spirit fails not to retrace 

Each house, and haunt, and oft-remembered face ; 

The rucged rock, the hill, the shaded plain, 

Once more I tread with youthful feet again, 

And in Imagination's eye review 

Each scene that cheered me, when my life was new. 

Nor is it strange ; it thus hath always been. 
And thus will always be, while men are men. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 155 

No change of place, companionship, or state. 
The heart from its first loves can separate ; 
Unbribed by joys, which have a foreign birth, 
It claims, unchanged, its own, its natal earth. 

See, how aloft, with struggling step and slow, 
The daring Switzer climbs his heights of snow, 
While o'er the mountain's brow the chilling storm, 
With stern invasion, smites his youthful form ! 
Go, take him thence, and place within his hand 
The gifts and pleasures of some happier land, 
Bid o'er his head Italia's summers glow. 
Her breezes fan, her flowers around him blow ; 
You do not pluck his memorj'' from its seat, 
You do not, cannot make his soul forget; 
His father's form is present to his mind. 
His mother's look, that ever beamed so kind ; 
His much-loved sister's voice he seems to hear, 
The herdsman's song invades his startled ear; 
And often will he think, and often sigh 
For his own mountain hearth and stormy sky. 

Where, in yon field, my father used to keep, 

Pride of his little farm, his flock of sheep. 

Where bright-eyed birds in birch and maple sing, 

From branch to branch with gaily glancing wing, 

A joyous group of the same heart and age, 

We took our predatory pilgrimage. 

Bright was the sun, and balmy was the air. 

And life, and buoyant health, and youth were there; 

The squirrel, in his old, fantastic tree, 

C/hirped forth Uis welcome ioua and merrily ; 



156 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE 

And mellow autumn, in his treasures dressed, 
Waved o'er the land, to tempt and make us blessed. 
With one triumphant leap we passed the brook, 
Cast on the barren beech a wishful look, 
Explored the ripened walnut bough, and then 
Rushed loud and joyous down the hazel glen, 
And where the apples reddened in the sun, 
Climbed to the topmost branch, and treasures won 

Not distant far, shut from the public eye. 

Save when he wandered forth for charity, 

The tenant of a hut, which seemed to be 

As shattered, rent, and beggarly as he, 

There lived, (and oft we called to see him there. 

Supported in his rude, capacious cliair,) 

Poor Will the beggar, miserably old. 

With hunger pinched, and shivering with the cold. 

I name him here, for he too has a place 

Among the forms, that fancy loves to trace ; 

And I should do my heart and memory wrong, 

Were I, unnamed, to pass him in my song. 

Sometimes, when birds with music hailed the morn, 

And round his pathway waved the yellow corn. 

With vacant eye, and with uncertain feet. 

He groped his way into the public street. 

One day I marked him at the rich man's gate. 

Just in the attitude his wants to state. 

His locks were gray, and cautiously he pressed, 

Upon the faithful stafT, his bending breast ; 

His hat he reached abroad with trembling hand, 

And few his meek petitions could withstand. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 157 

The village lads, who knew him, slopped their play, 
To mark his rags, and hear what he would say. 
He gently eyes them, as they flock around. 
And for each cent half bends him to the ground. 
His tattered garments and his feeble frame 
The greatness of his age and wants proclaim; 
And some, who know no pity, pause to see 
His grateful bows and sad civility. 

Farewell, poor Will ! With one accord we part, 
And next are met around the pedlar's cart. 
He, honest man, with whip o'er shoulder placed, 
His long, interminable journey traced. 
O'er mud and dry, o'er hillock and o'er plain, 
In mild and storm, in sunshine and in rain. 
Hark! How his wagon thunders ! What a sound 
His pails and pans and dippers scatter round ! 
Thus doth he come, who oft had come before. 
With knowing look and strangely various store. 
Combs, ribbons, knives, and pocket-books he had. 
To grace the lass and please the country lad. 
With rattles, drums, and jews-harps for the boys, 
Whate'er could please the eye, or make a noise. 
His little books he carefully displayed. 
The Children of the Wood, to death betrayed ; 
John Gilpin and his famous turnpike race. 
The tales of Robin Hood and Chevy Chase. 
To passers by, (no shame-faced youth was he,) 
He gave the nod, and called out merrily. 
Whatever others sold, or had to sell. 
He proudly boasted, he could do as well ; 
Perched high upon his rusty cart, the same, 
With which from immemorial time he came, 
14 



158 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

With pie-bald horse, the rusty cart that drew, 
And like his master all the country knew. 

Nor when our pastimes, pleasures, feats we name, 

Should we forget the military flame ; 

A'as! when it should be rebuked, controlled, repressed, 

Too early kindled in the youthful breast. 

See through the streets the young militia come ; 

List to the screaming fife, the rattling drum ; 

See how they move with martial head erect. 

And wooden guns, their country to protect ! 

Many a gallant boy with matchless soul 

Gave in his name to swell the muster-roll ; 

Free waved our 'kerchief banner high and proud , 

Oft flamed our tiny cannon pealing loud ; 

While hats and smoke in upward whirls aspire; 

The overflow of freedom's generous fire. 

How blessed 't would be, if armies in array, 
With sword and battle-axe, were children's play, 
And, as they marched with banners up and down. 
Served but to please themselves, or please the town, 
And vvhile they thus amused the eye and ear. 
Drew down no widow's cheek the burning tear, 
Raised in no orphan's breast the bitter sigh 
O'er distant friends, that fall, and bleed, and die. 

But see ! The leaf is yellow on the hill ; 
The birds are few, the moaning winds are chill ; 
The autumn suns difllise their transient beam 
And from the plains returns the loaded team. 
There had the farmer toiled from early morn, 
And plucked with busy hand the full-eared corn. 



DAYS 0? YOUTH. 159 

Blest in his fruits, his cattle, and his sheaves. 
With shouldered iioe and axe, his field he leaves; 
Well-pleased, his boy is trudging- at his side, 
A sharer in the father's joy and pride. 
Weary, but patient, he erects his goad, 
And homeward urges fast the rustling load; 
While o'er the hills the setting sun-beam glows 
And leaves the world to shadows and repose. 

Hope of the land, ye farmers, who can brino- 
Heaps from the soil ye sowed in early spring. 
Your labors well demand the poet's lays. 
Too oft on subjects spent less worthy praise. 
Around the hearth, that brightly beams the while 
Of newly-gathered corn ascends the pile ; 
Around that pile, with cheerful voices loud. 
Gather, on Autumn nights, the husking crowd. 
The neighbors come with joyous heart and face, 
Their rural festival to cheer and grace, 
To yield their sympathy, their aid to yield 
To those, who, like themselves, subdue the field ; 
And while with busy hand their task they ply. 
And with their labors cheer the master's eye, 
Who marks the love that crowns the closing year, 
In baskets brightening with the golden ear. 
Traditionary tales the hours employ, 
Old hearts are glad, and young ones heave with joy. 

High rose the song, thrilled forth by many a tongue; 
'T was rude in measure, and 't was rudely sung : 
It told the daring deeds of Robin Hood, 
Done in the starless night and pathless wood, 



160 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Who trained his bloody band, his bow who bent, 
Where Sherwood's forests crown the sylvan Trent. 

And then there came, (it always had a place,) 
The spirit-stirring strain of Chevy Chase; 
And while we hear, before our mental eyes 
Men, steeds, and spears, and bloody fields arise. 
There goes Earl Douglas, like a baron bold, 
With milk-white steed, and armor bright as gold ; 
There doth Earl Percy not less boldly ride, 
With fifteen hundred English at his side; 
And Hugh Montgomery throws his dreadful spear ; 
Then first we wandering heard, and wept to hear. 
Thus many an ancient tale and many a song, 
The scene of bliss and hour of joy prolong. 

At that united, friendly, festal hour, 
The old blind fiddler oft displayed his power. 
He travelled through the country up and down, 
Talk of the cottage, wonder of the town ; 
Where'er he went, he never lingered long. 
And always made his welcome with his song. 
His darkened eye saw not the brilliant day. 
But in his soul shone friendship's genial ray ; 
He showed a minstrel's heart, a minstrel's skill, 
And ruled both swains and maidens at his will. 

In fancy still I see him proudly bear 

His sooty face, and jet-black curly hair ; 

One foot he forward pressed, and 'neath his chin, 

With head drawn back, he placed his violin ; 

And as we praised his skill, and closing round, 

Exclaimed, impatient for the magic sound. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 161 

He poured at times the brisk and lively strain, 

And then it slow and serious grew again. 

At times he hit the stern and martial air, 

And then struck something that would please the fair; 

And as with practised hand he drew the bow, 

And strains divine around the circle flow. 

He rolled his sightless eye from place to place. 

And bowed and smiled with self-complacent grace. 

That strain is o'er; but joy waits not to borrow 

The ray, that gilds it, from the beaming morrow; 

'T is dark without; the hearth still shining bright, 

Relumes our walls, and fills our hearts with light ; 

Around its cheerful blaze we linger near. 

And to some native legend lend the ear. 

The huntsman from 'Seogee's* mimic sea, 

Or recent from the mount-crowned Ossipee, 

Or further still, where the White Mountains swell 

Vast and majestic, had his tale to tell. 

Full wondrous was the theme, and strange to hear. 

Of game entrapped, or slain with gun and spear, 

Of hair-breadth 'scapes upon the stormy lake. 

Of Indian, starting from the secret brake. 

Of whirlwinds bearing desolation wide. 

Of trees self-moved, hurled down the mountain-side, 

Of toils by day, of short and dangerous sleep, 

Scared by the wolves, their vigils near that keep. 

Such were the scenes, that gave my early days 
Their nameless charm, which round them still delays; 

*An abridged expression for Winnipiseogee, a beautiful lake in 
New Hampshire. Ossipee is the name of another lake in the same 
region. 

14* 



162 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Such were the hours, in recollection blest, 
That poured their pleasures o'er my youthful breast ; 
Blest in themselves, but rendered doubly dear, 
For those who loved me, those I loved, were near ; 
Who, with their hearts in looks and actions shown, 
Made all my g^riefs, and all my joys their own. 

Friends of my youth ! I often think of you. 
Sad was the hour, which saw the long adieu. 
Companions dear ! Ye yet shall have a part, 
A place of refuge, in my inmost heart, 
Till once again, with happiness complete. 
Brought face to face, and soul to soul, we meet. 
But this, alas, with some shall never be. 
Who loved, with open arms, to welcome me. 
Relentless Death, that spares nor friend nor foe. 
Hath touched them in their bloom, and laid them low. 
Yes ! they are gone ; but dead to outward sight, 
They live, unchanged, in memory's fadeless light. 

Mark how the churchyard yews and elms enclose 
Their narrow beds, and guard their deep repose. 
Green is their turf, and scattered fiowers have grown 
Above the moveless heart, the mouldering bone ; 
And those, who loved them, when the setting day 
Tinges the mountain with its farewell ray, 
Around their dust with pious tears renew 
The rites and honors, to their virtues due. 

Yonder there sleeps a youth, whose promise fair 
Shone in his eye, his manners, and his air; 
A child of genius! Mighty nature taught 
Both power and feeling to his early thought. 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 163 

I knew him well. The same with me in age, 

Together we explored old Maro's page ; 

But there was that in his prophetic eye, 

With which no vulgar mind had sympathy. 

He sought, when oped the morning's purple dawn, 

The breezy hill and solitary lawn ; 

But loved at eve the stream, or forest's gloom, 

Or pensive paused beside the sculptured tomb; 

Well known to talking age, and many a time 

He sat and heard their legendary rhyme. 

For other times, and deeds with ages dim, 

Forgot by most, had secret charms for him. 

But he is gone ; and I am left alone. 

Gone, like the flower, in early summer mown ; 

That poet's eye is dim ; the sod is pressed 

Coldly and sad upon his crumbling breast ; 

But long his image in the souls shall dwell 

Of those, who knew him, those who loved him well. 

Ah, there are thoughts more sad. Above thy grave, 
Long lost Elizabeth, the willows wave ; 
Thou wast my sister, but didst never frame 
A brother's sacred and endearing name ; 
Too young to know, or utter aught of me, 
But none the less my love encircled thee. 
Few were thy days, and those of deep distress, 
But e'en thy griefs were bright with loveliness. 
Returned from school, with heart averse from play, 
I hastened where thy suffering body lay ; 
Beside thy humble cradle took my stand, 
Thy forehead kissed, and held thy little hand. 
Oft didst thou feebly smile ; and then again 
Thy countenance confessed the bitter pain. 



164 AMERICAN COTTAGK LIFE. 

Deep to our hearts went each imploring gaze, 
Which oft we saw thee to thy parents raise ; 
But all in vain ; we wept ; we saw thy tears ; 
Death heeded not our watchings, griefs, and fears, 
But sternly quelled, regardless of thy cry, 
Thy struggling heart, and quenched thy lovely eye. 

Sister much loved ! Although thy days were few, 
And He, v/ho gave thee, soon that gift withdrew. 
Unchanged, thine infant beauty is impressed 
Deeply within the chambers of my breast ; 
And oft, where willows guard thine early sleep, 
I linger near, and o'er thine ashes weep ; 
Recall what thou wast once, what would be now, 
If ripened womanhood had graced thy brow, 
And fondly think, when I too take my flight. 
Once more to meet thee in the realms of light. 

And it is ever thus. Frail man shall die ; 
Strength quit his limbs, and light desert his eye ; 
But there 's a shore, when life's poor hour is past, 
Which welcomes home the wanderer at last. 
Deserted and forlorn, a friendly hand 
Shall guide the Christian to that better land ; 
No longer doomed in earth's dim realms to stray, 
Where storms affright, and shadows clothe the way. 
See ! How he mounts aloft, his perils o'er. 
Where sin and sorrows shall be known no more; 
Where, in the glories of that brighter sphere. 
The sigh is hushed, and banished every tear. 

Thus taught the village pastor, on whose tongue, 
Deeply attent, my youth and childhood hung, 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 165 

As, venerable man, he loved to trace. 

In contrast to our woes, a Saviour's grace. 

I recollect him well. In yonder wood. 

Shut from the world, his humble mansion stood ; 

Scarce to the passing stranger's eye betrayed, 

Amid the mountain ash and sumac's shade. 

He loved his sacred work; but well he knew, 

' T was no small task, his Saviour bade him do ; 

A task, which claimed whate'er he had of power, 

The daily discipline, the midnight hour. 

In solitude, remote from public care, 

He strove by faith, by penitence, and prayer, 

To purify the troubled heart within. 

And thus reproved more bold the people's sin ; 

Till from his lips his warnings and advice 

Came with the power of mandates from the skies. 

But deem him not unkind; he shared the love 

Of those whom duty called him to reprove; 

For when stern justice spoke in tones severe, 

He yet to Pity gave the willing tear. 

The poor ne'er failed to find in him a friend. 

Ready his counsel, care, and aid to lend. 

The great and rich revered him, for they saw 

His heart was fixed in heaven, and heaven his law; 

And when at times he walked the public street, 

The children came the holy man to greet, 

And from his lips, still to their office true, 

A father's prayer, a father's blessing drew. 

When on the bed of death his flock were laid 
^.nd turned to human art in vain for aid, 



166 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

When friends, who shed the agonizing tear, 
Around that bed of death were gathered near, 
We saw him oft to that dread scene repair. 
And lift to Heaven the humbly fervent prayer. 
In life and death one object he pursued, 
To check the vicious, p.nd build up the good, 
To pour the light upon the darkened mind, 
To guide the wretch to vicious paths inclined, 
And mid the maze of life to point the way. 
That upward leads to heaven's unclouded day. 

Youth lasts not always ; suns and stars roll on ; 

Ana scarce its bliss is tasted, ere 'tis gone. 

I older grew, and then it was my care 

For riper life and duty to prepare; 

And moving on a more extended plan. 

To lay aside the boy, and act the man. 

Still rises to my thought that saddened day. 

Which broke my dreams, and called me far away, 

To leave, (I left them not without a tear,) 

All I had honored, loved, and held most dear. 

As I went forth and viewed the glorious sun. 

And looked, where wild Cocheco's waters run, 

And gazed upon each loved and chosen scene. 

The ancient wood, the ornamented green. 

And heard once more the birds and bounding rill, 

And saw the lambs, that gambolled on the hill. 

What days and years into that moment came. 

Gleamed at the melting eye, and shook the frame. 

Thoughts, troubled and o'ercharged, my bosom swell ; 

I sadly turned, and sighed a long farewell. 

Sadly and slow, I sought the cottage door. 
Ere I depart, to taste its bliss once more ; 



DAYS OF YOUTH. 167 

But vainly strove, dear as it was, to find 
A solace for my grieved, desponding mind. 
There stood around, (it shames me not to tell,) 
Brothers and sisters, whom I loved full well ; 
Who, as they saw, not soon to see again. 
Showed in their sorrowed looks, the inward pain. 
Nor they alone : yet other friends were near, 
To give the warm embrace, the frequent tear, 
And sadly to lament, too dear to last, 
The joys, that blessed them, now forever past. 

But ere, a pilgrim to another land, 

I bade adieu, and gave the parting hand, 

My watchful mother called me from the rest, 

With heart unchanged, her warmest love expressed ; 

Nor let me go, till from its place she drew 

A Bible, kept for this last interview. 

Take, my dear child, she said, this sacred book. 

And often in its page of wisdom look. 

Make this your counsellor, and though you be 

Far from your home, and far, too far, from me, 

I will not fear. Let this your ways control. 

And to its teachings lend your inmost soul ; 

Then shall your mother's gladdened heart be blest. 

Her griefs subdued, her anxious thoughts at rest. 

My mother ! I began with thee my strain ; 
To thee I turn my changeless heart again. 
Though not in all the same, as thou wast then, 
W^hen forth I tried the troubled haunts of men, 
For age, that comes to all, hath come to thee, 
With kindling eye less bright, and step less free, 



168 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 

Thou didst not ever, and thou couklst not prove 
One throb diminished from a mother's love. 
And thou hast had thy sorrows. He is gone, 
And left thee in thy widowhood alone. 
Who bore with thee the burden of the day. 
Who watched with thee thy children's infant play. 
Who, loved and honored, though unknown to fame, 
Sustained the husband's and the father's name, 
I too will weep, for I have deeply known 
The love that in his life and aspect shone. 
Blest, sacred form, that, ever placed by thine, 
Survives and brightens in the spirit's shrine ! 
But let me not forget, the shaft for me. 
Not meant for one alone, had wounds for thee ; 
And that my watchful thoughts and cares are due 
To her, who far the deeper sorrow knew. 
Yes, let me come, and in thy weary age, 
Attempt that hidden anguish to assuage, 
And grateful, with a pious hand to bring, 
(Such as I may,) my filial offering. 

The Bible ! from thine own loved hand I took, 

Wet with a mother's tears, the sacred book. 

'T was the last gift, when from thy sight I drew, 

To venture forth on doubtful scenes and new. 

And thou wast kind : that book hath done me good. 

Many an inward evil hath subdued. 

Taught me the nature of the world to see, 

The frailness of its hopes, its vanity ; 

And from the scenes around me turned mine eye 

To other scenes and mansions in the sky. 

There may I meet with thee; be that our home, 

No more to sorrow, never more to roam ; 




.fAOTlHl AN© S j^- PS S) C; E W C 



DAVS OF YOUTH. 1G9 

There are the bowers, whose bloom shall ne'er decay, 
While all inferior glories fade away ; 
There shall the wanderers meet, the weary there, 
In songs of everlasting triumph share. 



SCRIPTURAL SONNKTS 

FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 



I. 

THE LIBERTY OF THE GOSPEL. 

"Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, who- 
soever committeth sin is the servant of sin. If the 
Son, therefore, shall make you free, ye shall be free 
indeed." John 8 : 34, 36. 

If thou, oh God, wilt make my spirit free, 
Then will that darkened soul be free indeed ; 
I cannot break my bonds, apart from thee, 
Without thy help I bow and serve and bleed. 
Arise, oh Lord, and in thy matchless strength, 
Asunder rend the links my heart that bind. 
And liberate and raise and save, at length, 
My long enthralled and subjugated mind. 
And then with strength and beauty in her wings, 
My quickened soul shall take an upward flight, 
And in thy blissful presence, King of kings, 
'Rejoice in liberty and life and light, 
In renovated power and conscious truth. 
In faith and cheerful hope, in love and endless youth. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 171 



11. 



NECESSITY OF DIVINE ILLUMINATION. 



"But the natural man receiveth not the thinirs of the Spirit 
of God ; for they are foolishness unto him ; neither can 
he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." 
1 Cor. 2: 14. 



O, SEND one ray into my sightless ball, 
Transmit one beam into my darkened heart ! 
On Thee, Almighty God, on Thee I call, 
Incline thy listening ear, thine aid impart ! 
In vain the natural sun his beams doth yield, 
In vain the moon illumes the fields of air; 
The eye-sight of my soul is quenched and sealed, 
And w^hat is other light, if shades are there ! 
Beyond the sun and moon I lift my gaze,' 
Where round thy throne a purer light is spread, 
Where seraphs fill their urns from that bright blaze, 
And angels' souls with holy fires are fed. 
O, send from that pure fount one quickening ray. 
And change these inward shades to bright and glorious day. 



172 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



UI. 



RESTORATION TO THE DIVINE IMAGE. 



"That, which is born of the flesh, is flesh; and that which 
is born of the Spirit, is spirit." John 3 : 6. 

"We are changed into the same image from glory to glory, 
even as by the Spirit of the Lord." 2 Cor. 3 : 18. 



Upon the morning flower the dew's small drop, 
So small as scarcely to arrest the eye, 
Receives the rays from all of heaven's wide cope, 
And images the bright and boundless sky. 
And thus the heart, when 't is renewed by grace, 
Recalled from error, purified, erect. 
Receives the image of Jehovah's face. 
And though a drop, the Godhead doth reflect. 
It hath new light, new truth, new purity, 
A rectitude unknown in former time, 
A love, that in its arms of charity 
Encircles every land and every clime ; 
Submission, and in God a humble trust. 
And quickened life to all, that 's pure and kind and just. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 173 



iV. 



THE BLESSED NAME OF CHRIST. 



"If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye ; 
for the Spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you. 
On their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he 
is glorified." 1 Peter 4: 14. 



Whate'er our griefs in life, whate'er in death, 
If doomed perchance to feel the martyr's flame, 
Still, with our last and agonizing breath, 
In joy will we repeat Christ's precious name : 
O ! there 's a magic in that glorious word ; 
No other has such power; the mighty voice. 
From senatorial lips and patriots heard. 
Can ne'er like this enkindle, rouse, rejoice. 
For Christ's dear name the saints, without a groan, 
In times of old met death upon their knees ; 
For Christ's dear name the lonely Piedmontese 
Down headlong o'er the crimson rocks were thrown. 
That blessed name gives hope and strength and zeal 
That sets at nought alike the flood, the fire, the steel. 
15* 



174 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



V. 



TRUE RECTITUDE. 



" And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a con- 
science void of ofTence toward God and toward men." 
Acts 24 : 16. 



What constitutes the true nobility ? 
Not wealth, nor name, nor outward pomp, nor power. 
Fools have them all ; and vicious men may be 
The idols and the pageants of an hour. 
But 't is to have a good and honest heart, 
Above all meanness and above all crime. 
And act the right and honorable part 
In every circumstance of place and time. 
He, who is thus, from God his patent takes, 
His Maker formed him the true nobleman; 
Whate'er is low and vicious he forsakes. 
And acts on rectitude's unchanging plan. 
Things change around him; changes touch not him; 
The star, that guides his path, fails not, nor waxes dim. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 175 



THE MILLENNIAL DAY. 



'• They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain : 
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, 
as the waters cover the sea." Isa. 11:9, 



Upon God's Holy Mountain all is peace. 
Of clanging arms and cries and wail, no sound 
Goes up to mingle with the gentle breeze, 
That bears its perfumed whispers all around. 
Beneath its trees that spread their blooming light, 
The spotted leopard walks ; the ox is there ; 
The yellow lion stands in conscious might. 
Beneath the dewy and illumined air. 
A little child doth take him by the mane. 
And leads him forth, and plays beneath his breast. 
Nought breaks the quiet of that blest domain, 
Nought mars its harmony and heavenly rest : 
Picture divine and emblem of that day, 
Whf'.n peace on earth and truth shall hold unbroken sway. 



176 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE, 



VII. 



THE SOVEREIGN WILL. 



*' Thou hast a mighty arm ; strong is thy hand, and high is 
thy right hand." Psalm 89 : 13. 



There is one ruling power, one sovereign will, 
One sum and centre of efficiency. 
'T is like the mystic wheel within the wheel 
The prophet saw at Chebar. Its decree 
Goes from the centre to the utmost bounds 
Of universal nature. Its embrace 
And penetrating touch pervades, surrounds 
Whate'er has life or form or time or place. 
It garnishes the heavens, and it gives 
A terror and a voice to ocean's wave. 
In all the pure and gilded heights it lives, 
Nor less in earth's obscurest, deepest cave. 
Around, above, below, its might is known, 
Encircling great and small, the footstool and the throne. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. I"i7 



mi. 



HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR. 



" My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops 
of the ni"-ht." Cant. 5 : 2. 



TuF. stfirs ore shining from their depths of blue, 
And one is standing at the door and knocks; 
He knocks to enter in. His raven locks 
Are heavy with the midnight's glittering dew. 
He is our Friend; and great his griefs have been, 
The thorns, the cross, the garden's deep distress, 
Which he hath suffered for our happiness ; 
And shall we not arise, and let him in? 
All hail, thou chosen one, thou source of bliss ! 
Come with thy bleeding feet, thy wounded side; 
Alas, for us Thou hast endured all this; 
Enter our doors, and at our hearth abide! 
Chill are the midnight dews, the midnight air; 
Come to our hearts and homes, and make thy dwelling there. 



lis AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



IX. 

CONFIDENCE IN GOD IN BEREAVEMENTS. 



"A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter 
weepinof; Rachel, weeping- for her children, refused to 
be comforted for her children, because they were not." 
Jer. 31 : 15. 



Why has my child, my darling child departed ? 
Why has my God in wrath that loved one taken ? 
Leaving me desolate and broken-hearted, 
O'erwhelmed and prostrate, hopeless and forsaken. 
And is it all in wrath that 1 am smitten. 
And pressed with burdens heavy to be borne? 
Hope yet, my soul, in God, for he hath written 
With his own finger, blessed are they wlio vumrn. 
Perhaps I loved my child more than my God, 
Neglecting and forgetting every other. 
And He in mercy sent the chastening rod. 
And took away tlie child to save the mother. 
Farewell, then, earth ! Why should 1 look below ? 
1 too will take my staff, and, weeping, heavenward go. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 179 



MEEKNESS OF SPIRIT. 



" Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth. 
Blessed are the peace-makers; for they shall be called 
the children of God." Mat. 5 : 5, 9. 



When there are clouds and tempests in the mind, 
And peace and mercy are by wrath displaced, 
It breaks the plan of love which Heaven designed, 
And turns the blooming garden to a waste. 
Then keep thy soul in peace and quietness, 
And strive each evil passion to restrain. 
And God will smile upon thee, and will bless, 
And his bright image in thy breast maintain. 
He, who did bow his blessed head in woe. 
The Saviour of the meek and lowly heart. 
Did he not pray for those who struck the blow. 
And bless the ruffian hand that aimed the dart ? 
O, be like him, calm, patient, self-controlled ; 
He, who can rule himself, has richer wealth than gold. 



180 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XI. 

CONSOLATION IN THE GOSPEL. 



That we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for 
refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us : which 
hope we have as an anchor to the soul both sure and 
steadfast." Heb. 6 : 18, 19. 



How beautiful, as fades the gloom of night, 
How beautiful the early sunbeams fall 
In long and levelled lines of light, o'er all 
The wide expanse of plain, and vale, and height, 
And clothe them with a young and purple bloom ! 
So, when my heart environed is with sorrow, 
And from the earth no ray of hope can borrow, 
The Gospel's glory dissipates its gloom. 
That Gospel plants a sun within my breast, 
Which hath the power to change dark shades to day ; 
Unchanged, unfailing, it transmits its ray. 
And e'en in sorrow makes my bosom blest. 
The vales throw ofT their shades, the mists take wing. 
The flowers unfold their leaves, the birds start up and sing 



SONNETS POR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 181 



XII 



THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 



** For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to 
the needy in distress, a refuge from the storm." 

" A man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a 
covert from the tempest." Is. 25 : 4. 32 : 2. 



The clouds are gathering in the distant sky ; 
I hear the fiercely muttering thunders roll ; 
Terrors invade my breast ; my trembling soul 
Looks forth around, but sees no refuge nigh. 
Ah, whither shall I flee ? What friendly hand 
Shall guide me to some safe, select retreat. 
Where, while the dark, perpetual tempests beat, 
Unscathed, uninjured, I may safely stand ? 
He comes ! He comes ! I see the platted crown ; 
I see the bleeding feet, the wounded side. 
Now let the bellowing storm rush fiercely down, 
Thy smile shall comfort me, thine arms shall hide 
With thee, thou dear Redeemer, are no fears • 
Thou scatterest all my doubts, and wipest all my tears. 
16 



182 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Xlll. 



THE HIDDEN LIFK 



" Set your affection on things above, not on things on the 
earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ 
in God." Col. 3 : 2, 3. 



My life is folded in the life of Jesus, 
No longer mine, but purchased by that tide, 
That crimson tide, which, shed on Calvary, frees us 
From those dark stains that in our hearts abide. 
My life is hid with Christ, and I am his. 
Whate'er his will, that am I bound to do; 
If he doth call me to far lands and seas, 
I hear his summons, and his steps pursue. 
Where'er he goes, I cannot stay behind ; 
In what he does, my hand shall have employ; 
Whene'er he sufTers, sorrow fills my mind ; 
When he rejoices, I partake the joy. 
He bought me by his blood, and I am his; 
I have no other will, no other grief nor bliss. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 183 



XIV. 



HELP IN THE WILDERNESS. 



" Thus saith the Lord, The people which were left of the 
sword, found grace in the wilderness ; even Israel when 
I went to cause him to rest." Jer. 31 : 2. 

"Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning 
upon her beloved ?" Cant. 8 : 5. 



Alas! We travel in the desert now, 
Obscure our way, perplexed the paths we tread; 
With thorns and briers the vales are overspread, 
The mountains fright us with their angry brow. 
But who is this that hears us in distress. 
And when we fear we ne'er shall travel through, 
Doth sudden burst upon our raptured view, 
And goes before us in the wilderness ? 
The Saviour comes ! We lean upon his arm, 
And resting there, find strength amid our woe ; 
The tempests cease, that filled us with alarm. 
And o'er the burning plains the fountains flow. 
No more the storms assail, the thunders roll, 
But angels' songs are heard, and pleasures fill the soul. 



184 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XV. 

SUPPORT IN AFFLICTION, 



" God IS our refuge and strength, a very present help in 
trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth 
be removed, and though the mountains be carried into 
the midst of the sea." Ps. 46 : 1, 2. 



When, Father, thou dost send the chastening rod, 
O, what am I, that I should dare reply. 
Thy love arraign, thy righteousness deny, 
And set the creature in array with God ? 
Far be it from my soul to question thee, 
For I am nought. Be this my only prayer. 
That I may have due strength the rod to bear, 
And bless the hand that doth environ me. 
So that, what time the outward man doth perish, 
Smitten with many stripes, inflicted deep, 
The inward man renewed hopes may cherish, 
And high above the storms in glory sweep. 
We sink in the deep waters; but thy hand 
Shall hold us in the waves, and bring us safe to land. 



SONNETS FOR KELIGIOUS HOURS. 185 



XVI. 



CHRISTIAN BENEVOLENCE. 



"Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor 
unto him that fell among- the thieves ? And he said, 
He that showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto 
him, Go, and do thou likewise." Luke 10: 36, 37. 



Who is my brother ? 'T is not merely he. 
Who hung upon the same loved mother's breast; 
But every one, whoever he may be, 
On whom the image of a man 's imprest. 
True Christian sympathy was ne'er designed 
To be shut up within a narrow bound ; 
But sweeps abroad, and in its search to find 
Objects of mercy, goes the whole world round. 
'T is like the sun, rejoicing east and west. 
Or beautiful rainbow, bright from south to north ; 
It has an angel's pinion, mounting forth 
O'er rocks, and hills, and seas, to make men blest. 
No matter what their color, name, or place. 
It blesses all alike, the universal race. 
16* 



186 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE, 



XVII. 



THE BOOK OF JUDGMENT. 



"And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; 
and the books were opened ; and another book was 
opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were 
judged out of those things which were written in the 
books, according to their works." Rev. 20 : 12. 



Where is the Judgment Book, which God doth keep? 
Where is the record he hath made of sin ? 
So that at last it shall awake from sleep. 
And legibly appear? It is within. 
The Judgment Book is every man's own breast. 
This is the tablet God hath graved upon ; 
More lasting is the stamp that 's there impressed, 
Than if it were inscribed on wood or stone. 
The wood may change to dust, the stone may break, 
And what is written there at last decay ; 
But the inscription, which the soul doth take. 
Will never, through all ages, waste away. 
Men may, on earth, turn from this book their sight. 
But not, when made to gleam in the great judgment light. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 1S7 



XVIII. 

THE SOURCE OF HAPPINESS IN THE SOUL. 

"Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the 

issues of life." Prov. 4 : 23. 
" Let the heart of them rejoice that seek the Lord." Ps. 

105: 3. 

The soul hath power, through God's mysterious plan, 
To mould anew and to assimilate 
The outward incidents that wait on man, 
And make them like his hidden, inward state. 
If there 's a storm within, then all things round 
The inward storm to clouds and darkness changes ; 
But inward light makes outward light abound, 
And o'er external things in beauty ranges. 
If but the soul be right, submissive, pure, 
It stamps whate'er takes place with peace and bliss ; 
If fierce, revengeful, and unjust, 't is sure 
From outward things to draw unhappiness. 
Then watch, and chiefly watch, the inward part, 
For all is right and well, if there 's a holy heart. 



1S8 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XIX. 



LIVING NEAR TO CHRIST. 

" Brethren, be followers together of me, and mark them 
which walk so, as ye have us for an example. For our 
conversation is in heaven ; from whence also we look 
for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ." Philip. 3 : 
17, 20. 

When the bright sun is nearest to the earth. 
In vernal months and days of summer bloom, 
The buds and flowers and bending fruits have birth, 
Instinct with life and beauty and perfume. 
And so the man, who near the Saviour lives, 
Finds his heart kindling 'neath that radiant face ; 
The cheering light and heat the Saviour gives, 
And renovates and blesses with his grace. 
But if the Christian keeps himself away. 
And follows Christ, as Peter did, far ofl',^* 
But seldom meditates, nor loves to pray. 
Or meets, on doubtful ground, with those who scofT, 
His heart grows cold, no genial ray shall bless, 
'T will be Siberian waste, mere ice and barrenness. 

'•'Al the lime of his dcnvin" the Saviour,^ See Matt. 26 : 58. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 189 



XX. 



THE GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN. 



" But now they desire a better country, that is, a heav 
enly ; wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their 
God : for he hath prepared for them a city." Heb. 
11: 16. 



When on some voyage of trade in distant seas, 
The gallant ship has ploughed for many years, 
At last with sails rejoicing in the breeze. 
Her own, her lovely native coast she nears ; 
The hardy sailors look from deck and mast. 
Their fathers' hills and hamlets to descry; 
As one by one they point them out, full fast 
Unwonted tears of gladness fill the eye ; 
They shout with joy ; 't is their own native land; 
Where brothers, sisters, fathers, grandsires dwell. 
So, when the Christian on life's bounds doth stand, 
On heaven's bright hills his eyes with fervor dwell, 
His blessed Father's home is in his sight, 
He shouts aloud with joy, unspeakable delight. 



190 AMERICAN COTTAGE LliE. 



XXI. 



THE LAST TRUMP. 



Behold I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, 
but we shall all be changed. In a moment, in llie 
Iwhikling of an eye, at the last trump ; for the trumpet 
shall sound, and the dead shall be raised.'" 1 Cor. 15: 
51, 52. 



When the last trump shall sound, all earth shall hear, 
The sea's wide tumbling waves be fixed with dread, 
The startled mountains turn their iron ear. 
The hills shall flee away, and hide their head. 
Leviathan shall plunge into his cave, 
His deepest cave; the lion to his den ; 
In the black clouds the birds their wings shall wave, 
And screaming loud, respond the cries of men ; 
And men, poured forth from cot and splendid hall, 
Shall mingle with the cattle in the fields, 
While, tost and breaking at the trumpet's call, 
The rending ground beneath their footstep yields. . 
When all is changing, all in horror mixed. 
The Christian's soul remains believing, calm, and fixed. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 191 



XXII. 

THE TRUE GROUND OF JOY. 



•Notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are 
subject unto you; but rather rejoice because your names 
are written in lieaven." Luke 10 : 20. 



Rejoice not in thy wealth of house and fields. 
Nor build your hopes and bliss on earthly fame ; 
Earth but a momentary glory yields, 
Its brightest joys are as an empty name. 
O, fix no fondness there ; 't will prove a thorn ; 
Many, that deeply loved, have deeply rued 
Attachments so unworthy; and they warn 
Others from treading where their feet have stood. 
The Saviour teaches a far I'/iser course, 
To deem it glory, not that we possess 
Mere wealth or power, or learning's proud resource, 
Which mock us with the show of happiness ; 
But that we have, in that dread book on high. 
Our names inscribed of God, in words that never die. 



192 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXlll. 



THE PHYSICIAN OF THE MIND. 



"And Jesus answering-, said unto them, They that arc 
whole need not a physician ; but they that are sick. 1 
came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repent- 
ance," Luke 5 : 31. 



He makes the deaf to hear, the blind to see, 
Restores the faint, and doth the bleeding bind, 
But shows himself more strong in charity. 
In healing the diseases of the mind. 
Thou sick and bowed of soul, to Jesus go ! 
Tell him how weak and liow diseased the heart, 
And learn how he compassionates your woe. 
And plucks the spirit's, as the body's smart. 
He quells the fears that throng thee and annoy. 
With brighter views the intellect doth fill. 
Gives strength to hope, and permanence to joy. 
And aids with power divine the doubting will. 
Others may heal the body; Christ makes whole. 
(And only he hath power,) the crushed and fallen soul. 



SONNKTS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. lO'i 



XXIV. 



SORROW FOR SIN. 



"And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired 
servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, 
and I perish with hunger. I will arise and go to my 
father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned 
against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy 
to be called thy son." Luke 15 : 17 — 19. 



In dust and ashes let me humbled lie, 
For I have sinned against my God and friend ; 
Nor ever upward lift my troubled eye, 
But only tears let fall and groanings send. 
And wilt Thou hear, who, merciful as just, 
Dost pity on the bleeding bosom take ? 
Yes, Thou wilt mark the suppliant in the dust. 
The bowed and bruised reed Thou wilt not break! 
Here is my hope, and it is only here ; 
For I have sinned — how much God only knows ; 
Thy law have broken, put away thy fear, 
And caused the sneer and scoffings of thy foes. 
Low in the dust my worthless head I lay, 
Till God shall hear my prayer, and take my guilt away. 
17 



J9} AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXV. 



CHRIST'S YOKE EASY. 



*'Come unto me all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, 
and learn of me : for I am meek and lowly in heart; 
and ve shall find rest unto your souls." Matt. 11 : 
28, 29. 

Where love is strong, 'tis easy to obey ; 
'T is thus the grateful and devoted child, 
Who tends his aged parents night and day, 
Finds all his labors by his heart beguiled. 
The light of love can make deep darkness bright, 
And change a bed of thorns to beds of roses; 
'T is love, celestial love, that makes so light 
The yoke, which Jesus on his friends imposes. 
Prompted by this, with ready will and hand. 
They follow in the path, which he hath trod ; 
Revere alike his life and his command. 
And bow with gratitude beneath his rod. 
Nothing is grievous which he bids to do ; 
Where love inspires ihe heart, life, hope, and strength are 
new. 



SONNETS FOR RELiGlOUS HOUK.S. 



195 



XXVI. 



I SHALL YET PRAISE HIM. 



" Why art thou cast down, oh my soul ? And why art thou 
disquieted within me ? Hope thou in God, ior I shall 
yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, 
and my God." Ps. 42 : 11. 



At that dim hour, when ploughmen first arise. 
Roused from their homely couch and deep repose, 
When stars still linger in the changing skies, 
And in the east the dawning feebly glows, 
'T is doubtful long, which of the two bears sway, 
The nascent day or unextinguished night. 
Till ruddy morn, at length, with bright array. 
Proclaims the triumph of victorious Light. 
So when there breaks upon the heart's domain 
The Light Divine, which mars the shades within, 
O, who can tell which of the two shall reign, 
The recent purity or ancient sin ? 
And yet the inward light, like outward day. 
Shall shine, revealed at last, with a triumphant ray. 



196 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXVII. 



A DIVIDED MIND. 



" For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. 
The iiirht of the body is the eye; if therefore thine eye 
be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if 
thine eye be evil, thv whole body shall be full of dark- 
ness." Matt. 6 : 21—23. 



O, THAT I had not this divided heart, 
A mind, self-sundered, and at war within; 
Which gives, or seems to give, to Heaven a part. 
But gives, alas, a greater part to sin. 
Sometimes I think the victory to gain, 
And plant my standard on the heavenly height; 
But suddenly imperious passions reign. 
And put my faithfulness and hopes to flight. 
My conscience prompts me to the better way, 
The Holy Spirit makes it still more clear, 
But foul temptation leads my steps astray, 
And heaven'is lost, because the world is dear. 
'T is he in triumph and in peace shall run 
The Christian's trying race, whose heart, whose soul, is one. 



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197 



XXVIII. 



SUBMISSION IN SICKNESS. 



"It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait 
for the salvation of the Lord." Lam. 3 : 26. 

" Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have 
heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of 
the Lord, that the Lord is very pitiful and of tender 
mercy." James 5 : IL 

God gives to each his task ; but what is mine ? 
What work doth he require of one like me ? 
Who, grieving, on the couch of sickness pine, 
And know no hours but those of misery. 
By others I am tended. Would I go 
To feed the poor, or unto heathen lands. 
Here am I fastened on this bed of woe. 
With feet that walk not, and with moveless hands. 
'T was thus I cherished wicked discontent, 
And inly blamed Jehovah's righteous ways, 
When suddenly a voice, in mercy sent. 
Reproves my striving heart, and gently says : 
If thou indeed for nothing else art fit, 

This work at least is thine, in patience to submit. 

17# 



198 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXIX. 



LIGHT IN GOSHEi' 



" And Moses stretched forth his hand towards heaven ; and 
there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt, 
three days. They saw not one another, neither rose 
any from his place for three days; but all the children 
of Israel had light in their dwellings." Exodus 10: 
22, 23. 



In ancient times, when God in anger came, 
And troubled Egypt with his mighty hand, 
The rayless sun withdrew his midday flame, 
And clouds and darkness filled the sightless land. 
But there was light i?i Goshen. On it lay, 
On pleasant hill and vale, and flower and tree, 
The moon's resplendent beam, the sunlight's ray. 
The free stars, singing in their liberty. 
Thus is it now. God's people walk in light, 
With changeless day to cheer them and to guide; 
But o'er the godless throng reigns Egypt's night, 
The sun and moon and stars their radiance hide. 
'T is God, whose glorious light is never dim, 
Illuminates the host, that faithful follow him. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 199 



XXX. 



THE VOYAGE, 



♦' When thou passest through the waters, I will be with 
thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow 
thee." Isaiah 43 : 2. 



Fair stream, embosomed in yon pleasant vale, 
That in thy quiet beauty sweep'st along ! 
How oft I skimmed thee with my slender sail, 
How oft I poured upon thy banks my song ! 
'T was then I marked the autumn's blushing leaves 
Sink, wafted slowly in the quiet air ; 
Thy silver wave the roseate gift receives, 
And hastes its treasure to the deep to bear. 
So man shall pass, borne on the stream of Time, 
A moment seen, and seen, alas, no more. 
Dark is the wave ; and distant is the clime ; 
But lift, in strength divine, the struggling oar ; 
And then, thou wanderer of life's troubled sea, 
N^or angry storm, nor rocks, nor wave, shall injure thee. 



200 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXXI. 



THE GRAVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 



' So also is the resurrection of tlie dead. It is sown in cor- 
ruption ; it is raised in incorniption : it is sown in dis- 
honor ; it is raised in glory : it is sown in weakness ; 
it is raised in power." 1 Cor. 15 : 42, 43. 



Where, near yon river's brink, the willows wave, 
And summer's flowers to golden life have sprung, 
Is dimly seen the village maiden's grave. 
Forever gone, the beautiful and young. 
The boatman turns to that sad spot his eye, 
When o'er the wave his lingering sail is spread, 
And see, when sunset gilds the pictured sky. 
Her sister maids draw near with silent tread. 
Alas, how oft the gems of earth grow pale, 
And stars, that blessed us, dim their rising ray ! 
But not in vain their beauty do they veil. 
And see their earthly glory pass away. 
For beauty here, they snatch immortal bloom. 
And light, eternal light, doth blossom on the tomb. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS, 201 



XXXII. 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM. 



" These all died in faith, not having received the promises, 
but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of 
them, and embraced them, and confessed that they 
were strangers and pilgrims on the earth." Heb. 
11: 13. 



Farewell, my native country ! Thy bright star. 
Thy sky, green woods, clear waters, no more greet 
Mine eye delighted. But with pilgrim feet, 
In waste and horrid lands, I wander far. 
I wander far, unknown, but not dismayed ; 
I leave my native country ; but my soul, 
Unmoved, unshaken, in its purpose whole. 
On higher power, than aught of earth, is stayed. 
My God shall be my cowitry ! I will call, 
And he will hear me in the desert place. 
When troubles come, before his feet I fall, 
And then he sheds the sunshine of his grace. 
On Afric's arid sands, on Asia's plain. 
On Greenland's ice-bound coast, no prayer to Him is vain. 



202 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXXIII. 

DESPISE NOT THE BEGINNINGS. 

* The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard-seed 
which a man took and sowed in his fieUl ; which indeed 
is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown, it is the 
greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree." Matt. 
13: 31,32. 

See, how beyond the hills the morning bright 
Doth write its coming with a single ray ; 
But gleam is joined to gleam, and light to light, 
Till feeblest dawn expands to perfect day. 
Despise not the begimiitigs. When the heart 
Receives, however small, the primal beam, 
Which God doth to the new-born soul impart, 
Revere and cherish its incipient gleam. 
Though the first ray from Heaven's eternal throne, 
The frail young shoot from glory's morning star, 
Yet fostered well, it dwelleth not alone. 
But grows in its own light, and shineth far. 
And bindeth ray with ray, till what was one, 
Compacted of itself, expands a new-born sun. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. . 203 



XXXIV. 



GOD NO RESPECTER OF PERSONS. 



'My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
the Lord of Glory, with respect of persons." " Hearken, 
my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of 
this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom, 
which he hath promised to them that love himi " Jas. 
2 : 1, 5. 



Behold yon poor old man, that plods along, 
Sadly and slowly in the crowded street. 
How beggarly ! Of those whom he doth meet. 
Scarce one doth note him in that countless throng. 
The very winds make sport of him, and rend 
His tattered garments rude. Yet do not deem, 
That he is all so lost, as he doth seem. 
Though all desert him else, he hath one friend. 
There is a God, who hath an equal eye, 
Who marks the high, nor spurns the lowly one; 
The wretched, whom the world pass scornfully, 
May be the blood-bought purchase of his Son. 
He deeper looks than the outside of things ; 
The beggar's soul to him is as the soul of kings. 



204 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXXV. 

PARENTAL BEREAVEMENT. 



" Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of 
God, that he may exalt you in due time ; casting all 
your care upon him, for he careth for you." 1 Peter 
5 : 6, 7. 



I 'vE lost my loved, my cherished little one. 
Who smiling, prattling, clasped her Father's knee. 
Alas ! Her transient hour of life is run, 
And her sweet tone and smile are nought to me. 
The grave hath claimed her. Oft I seem to hear 
Her blessed voice charming the vacant air. 
I listen ; but my own fond fancy's ear 
Ffames the sweet sound. My loved one is not thers. 
Onward, to where yon green tree waves its shade, 
I look, when summer's sultry sun is high ; 
There, in her days of life and health, she played ; 
In vain I thither turn my weeping eye. 
God in his mercy took her ; and 't is mine 
To feel his ways are right, nor let my heart repine. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 235 



XXXVI. 



I WOULD NOT ALWAYS LIVE. 



" So that my soul chooseth strangling ; and death rather 
than my life. I loath it ; I would not live always ; let 
me alone; for my days are vanity. What is man, that 
thou shouldest magnify him, and that thou shouldest 
set thy heart upon him ? " Job 7 : 15, 17. 



I would not always live.^ There 's something here, 
In this lone world of sorrow and of sin, 
To which the purer heart, to virtue dear, 
Finds no response, no sympathy within. 
As when the rising sun dispels the cloud, 
And spreads its glory o'er the dazzled sky, 
So shall the mind cast off its moral shroud. 
And bask in brightness, when it mounts on high. 
That is its home ; its high congenial place ; 
'T is there, that, fitted with unearthly wings. 
The spirit, running its eternal race, 
And mounting ever up, triumphant sings. 
I would not always live. Hail glorious day, 
Which gives us heavenly life, and takes our house of clay. 
18 



206 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXXVII. 



MYSTERY OF THE NEW BIRTH. 



'' Marvel not, that I said unto thee, ye must be born again. 
The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearestthe 
sound thereof, but canst not tell, whence it cometh and 
whither it goeth. So is every one that is born of the 
Spirit." John 3 : 7, 8. 



1 HEAR the mountain wind, but see it not; 
Its mournful sigh startles my mind's repose ; 
I listen ; but it passes quick as thought ; 
I know not whence it comes, nor where it goes. 
'T is thus with those, who of the Spirit are born, 
A change comes o'er them ; hoio they cannot say. 
They wake, as from the darkness wakes the morn, 
And mental night is changed to mental day. 
'T is God 's mysterious work. 'T is He can find, 
Deep searching, and 't is He can touch 
The deep and hidden spring that rules the mind. 
And change its tendencies and make it such, 
Redeemed, restored, as it was not before. 
We know that 't is God's work; but we can know no more. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 207 



XXXVIII. 



CONSTANCY. 



" Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye 
may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having 
done all, to stand. Stand, therefore, with your loins girt 
about with truth, and having on the breast-plate of 
righteousness," Ephes. 6 : 13, 14. 



Bought by Christ's blood, and to the purchase true, 
The Christian runs with cheerfulness the race, 
Which God in wisdom hath seen fit to trace. 
Nor turns some other object to pursue, 
Nor slacks his steadfast course. Sometimes he sees 
Fires in his path, or hears the serpent's breath. 
Or raging men with implements of death. 
But still goes on ; nor like the coward flees. 
The road is straight and narrow ; if he turns. 
Ruin awaits him ; if he onward goes, 
With face erect and heart with love that burns, 
However great the obstacles, he knows, 
Tliat God, who hath all power, all things can do, 
Will guard him in his straits, and bear him glorious through. 



2C8 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XXXIX. 



POWER OF FAITH. 



''Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteous- 
ness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 
quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the 
sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed val- 
iant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens." 
Heb. iT: 33,34. 



I SAT me down in earth's benighted vale, 
And had no courage and no strength to rise ; 
Sad to the passing breeze I told my tale, 
And bowed my head, and drained my weeping eyes. 
But Faith came by, and took me by the hand ; 
And now the valleys rise, the mountains fall. 
Welcome the stormy sea, the dangerous land ! 
With Faith to aid ine, I can conquer all. 
Faith lays her hand upon the lion's mane ; 
Faith fearless walks within the serpent's den; 
Faith smiles amid her children round her slain ; 
When worlds are burning, cries, unmoved. Amen. 
Yes, I am up, far upward on the wing ; 
The withered arm is strong ; the broken heart doth sing. 



SONNETS FOR KELKilUUS HOURS. 209 



XL. 



THE FOUNTAIN OF JERUSALEM. 



" In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house 
of David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin, 
and for uncleanness." Zech. 13 : 1. 

" Wash nie thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me 
from my sin." Ps. 51 : 2. 



Pure are thy waves, Abana, as they rove 
Through Syria's blooming plains ; and Parphar too 
Reflects from his bright breast the vernal hue 
Of citron bud, and pendent orange grove. 
And Jordan's stream, less bright, had yet the power 
To wash away the leprosy's foul stain. 
But when the smd is sick, to cleanse again, 
And make it pure, as in its primal hour. 
What earthly wave hath virtue ? What bright stream 
Can wash it from its blackness, and the tint. 
Long-lost, of angel purity imprint. 
To light and life and happiness redeem ? 
One fount alone can do it. There 's salvation 
In Jesus' blood alone, for man, and tribe, and nation. 
18* 



210 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XLl. 



UNCERTAINTY OF EARTHLY OBJECTS. 



" As for man, his days are as grass ; as a flower of the field 
so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it 
is gone ; and the place thereof shall know it no more." 
Ps. 10.3: 15, 16. 

"Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee. 
He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved." Ps. 
55: 22. 



As fall the trees upon the mountain's side, 
As shoot the stars upon a cloudless night, 
So pass the hopes, that foster human pride. 
With meteor glance, with dim disastrous flight. 
How frail the fairest shoots of earthly love ! 
The death of fathers, children, brothers, friends, 
While it afflicts, doth oft and deeply prove 
The vanity of earthly joys and ends. 
We lean upon a prop, that hath no strength ; 
We rest upon an arm, that hath no power; 
We trust it long and fondly ; but at length, 
It falls and blasts us in the evil hour. 
But time, nor tide, nor earth, nor hell, can harm 
Him that doth firmly rest on God's eternal arm. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 211 



XLU. 



THE RESURRECTION. 



"So also is the resurrection of the dead, It is sown in cor- 
ruption, it is raised in incorruption : it is sown in dis- 
honor, it is raised in glory : it is sown in weakness, it 
is raised in power: it is sown a natural body, it is 
raised a spiritual body." 1 Cor. 15 : 42 — 44. 



Sometimes my heart, too prone to doubt, will say, 
How can the cold and sleeping dead revive ? 
Impossible, that mouldering dust and clay 
Should ever with an angel's beauty live ! 
But look thou forth o'er all the fragrant earth. 
With leaf and bud, with fruit and floweret strown ; 
It is but yesterday they all had birth, 
From dust produced, from foul corruption grown. 
And cannot God, who bids the grass to rise. 
Who gives the leaf its shape, the flower its hue, 
Man's fallen clay to quickened life surprise. 
And give to that its share of beauty too ! 
0, then, thy fears dispel, thy doubts repress. 
Nor think it hard for God to raise, adorn, and bless. 



212 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XLIII. 



WINTER. 



"He givefh snow like wool; he scattereth the honr-frost 
like ashes. He casteth forth his ice like morsels : who 
can stand before his cold?" Ps. 147: 16, 17. 



God .sends his frost like ashes. With quick pace 
The stealthy sun hastes o'er the hills. The wind, 
That sweeps their beaten sides, doth chase 
The desolate leaves. The ice the lake doth bind, 
And the soft earth is hardened into rock. 
That shakes and echoes 'neath the shepherd's tread, 
Who fastens from the cold his shivering flock. 
E'en the gay flowers, the laughing flowers, are dead. 
God sees it fit to be so. Thus He teaches 
A lesson, which his creature man should learn, 
(Alas, too seldom human hearts it reaches,) 
That all things fade, and all to dust shall turn. 
Yes, man shall have his winter, and his year 
Of life wax old and die; his leaf and bloom be sear. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 213 



XLIV 



PERSECUTION. 



" Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill 
you ; and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name's 
sake." " But he that shall endure unto the end, thf. 
same shall be saved." Mat. 24 : 9, 13. 



At that dread time, to woes and blood allied, 
When Satan's angry hosts are gathering round ; 
O, who the trying hour will firm abide, 
Nor flee, when persecution stands unbound? 
O, who, esteeming joy and life but dross, 
Will freely barter bliss for agony. 
And to his bosom binding firm the Cross, 
Demand in chains and fire the victory? 
Sons of the kingdom ! Deem it good to die, 
When Jesus calls you to that final pain. 
Behold ! His angel bands are hovering nigh. 
To quench the fagot, and to rend the chain. 
The body falls ; the deathless mind shall rise, 
Rejoiced and purer from the sacrifice. 



214 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



XLV. 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 



" The hireling fleetii, because he is an hireling, and careth 
not for the sheep. I ar:i the good shepherd, 1 know my 
sheep and am known of mine." John 10 : 13, 14. 



When o'er the mountains blue the clouds arise. 
Charged thick with lightning, and with hail and rain, 
The shepherd, with his flocks upon the plain. 
Looks upward, and observes the threatening skies, 
And hastes and calls his lambs. He sees them roam, 
Some on the cliffs, some by the gentle brook. 
Unconscious of their danger. With his crook 
And chiding voice, he brings them safely home. 
And pens theni in the fold. Our Saviour too 
Is keeper of a flock, a precious flock. 
Purchased by his own blood. To pastures new 
He leads them ; and beneath the shadowy rock 
Protects them from the sun. When beat the storms, 
He folds them in his arms, and " in his bosom warms." 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 2J5 



XL VI. 



THE CHURCH. 



" Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, Ood hath shined " 

Ps. 50 ; 3. 
" But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an 

holy nation, a peculiar people." 1 Peter 2 : 9. 

Whate'er in earth the ravished eye beholds, 
Whate'er of beauty in the burnished sky, 
It all the great Creator's power unfolds, 
His truth, his wisdom, his benignity. 
There stand they, stamped by an immortal hand. 
In characters, as brio;ht as yonder sun ; 
Revealed and known and read by every land, 
Long as that burning orb its course shall run. 
But more his beauty from his Zion shines ; 
Far more his glory from his church is known ; 
Inscribed on holy hearts, in brighter lines ; 
With brighter beams, in holy actions shown. 
Ye are his Temple ; built and bought for Him ; 
O, then, let not its light, its holy light grow dim. 



216 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIKE. 



XLvn. 



THE RETURNING DOVE 



■'Also he sent forth a dove from hiin, to see if (he wnfers 
were abated from off the face of the ground. But t.ie 
dove found no rest for the sole of her foot ; and she 
returned unto him in the ark, for the waters were on 
the face of the whole earth." Gen. 8 : 8, 9. 



When Noah's Dove flew o'er the waters wide, 
(Dark were those watery fields and stormy then,) 
Boldly and far her daring flight she tried, 
But found no rest, and wearied came again. 
Christ is to us an ark, a sheltering home, 
A place of refuge in the hour of harm ; 
And yet too oft, with erring wing we roam. 
And seek some other place of rest and calm. 
But all in vain ; no nome of peace we find ; 
No arm of help, no shelter in the gale ; 
High beats the wave, and hostile is the wind, 
And all around a thousand fears assail. 
Return, oh, wandering one, thy steps retrace , 
Return, and find again, thy blessed resting-place. 



SONJXETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 217 



XL V 111. 



PROTECTION IN DANGER. 



"Fire and hail; snow and vapor; stormy wind, fulfilling 

his word." Ps. 148 : 8. 
" What manner of man is this ? For he commandeth even 

the winds and water, and they obey him." Luke 8: 25 



I HEAR the moaning of the wintry wind, 
That sweeps across the dreary waste of snow; 
It moves my soul like human voice unkind, 
Or wailings from some darkened house of woe. 
But I bethink me. In that sullen sound. 
There is a voice, which better import brings. 
The wind, as well as ocean, knows its bound, 
And hath its mandate from the King of kings. 
He rules the storm, e'en in its wildest mood, 
And binds its strength, and tempers well its shock, 
When rushing from the hills with onset rude, 
It threatens wide the forest and the flock. 
'T is thus he folds his people in his arm, 
Wipes every falling tear, and hushes each alarm. 
19 



218 AMERICAN COTTi^GE LIFE. 



XLIX. 



HUmLITY. 



Blessed are the poor in spirit ; for theirs is the king-dom of 
heaven. Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit 
the earth." Matt. 5 : 3, 5. 



The noisy brook, that from yon mountain flows, 
Dashing o'er cliffs like bird upon the wing, 
How useless ! Not a bud or flow'ret grows 
On its rude banks, nor aught of living thing. 
But look to yon bright meadow. Scarcely seen 
The silent streamlet winds its gentle way, 
Enriching as it goes ; its banks are green ; 
Birds sing there ; and the flowers their charms display. 
And so with Christians. Such as shall be found 
Possessors of a meek and quiet heart, 
From their own pure and inward fount impart 
Kiches to others, blessing all around. 
The world scarce notes them as they gently go, 
But bud, and flower, and fruit their pathway brightly show. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 219 



L. 



SECRET PRAYER. 



"But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and 
when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which 
is in secret; and thy Father, which seeth. in secret, 
shall reward thee openly," Matt. 6: 6. 



Men need a friend, into whose faithful breast 
Their sins and sorrows they can freely pour ; 
And filled with hope, can from his love implore 
Support and pardon, purity and rest. 
No earthly friend can meet this high demand; 
But God can do it. In the secret place 
Implore iiis guidance and forgiving grace, 
And thou shalt know his kind and aiding hand. 
He hears in secret. And thrice blest are they, 
Who, all apart from men, their homage bring ; 
Seeking in deepest solitude, to pay, 
Pure from the heart, their humble offering. 
In that blest hour, more than in any other, 
God meets us face to face, as brother meets with brother. 



220 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



LI. 



SPIRITUAL FREEDOM. 



'Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If 
ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples 
indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth 
shall make you free." John 8: 31, 32. 



So prompt are men their earthly chains to break, 
That countless toils they cheerfully endure. 
And pour their choicest blood for freedom's sake, 
Their sufferings to avenge, their rights secure. 
But there 's a greater bondage ; there 's a chain. 
Which deeper goes, and wastes with keener smart. 
It profits little, that we rend in twain 
The outward links, but wear them on the heart. 
Awake ! arise ! once more the effort make 
To gain the higher freedom. Christ can heal 
The wounds of sin's dread slavery, and can break 
The chains which Satan binds. To him appeal ! 
Lean on his arm, and it will all be well. 
He cuiu^uers every Ibe, sin, sorrow, death and hell. 



SONiVETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 221 



LII. 

GOD ANGRY WITH REBELLIOUS NATIONS. 



' Therefore, thus saith the Lord God, I will even rend it 
with a stormy wind in my fury ; and there shall be an 
overflowing shower in mine anger, and great hail-stones 
in my fury to consume it." Ezek. 13 : 13. 



O, God ! when nations rise against thy power, 
And stand with haughty and rebellious eye ; 
Then do the angry, muttering thunders lower, 
And stormy lightnings cleave the trembling skv. 
O, who, unscathed, thy vengeance shall defy, 
Thy day of desolation, blood, and flame? 
Jehovah is not man, that he should lie, 
And see dishonor put upon his name. 
He buried haughty Babylon in dust, 
E'en his beloved Zion felt the rod ; 
There is no hope, no confidence, no trust. 
But in the favor and the arm of God. 
His friends are safe, secure from every foe. 
His enemies shall bow, and fall beneath his blow. 
19* 



222 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



LIIl. 



RELIGIOUS RECOLLECTIONS. 



1 will meditate in thy precepts, and have respect unto thy 
ways. I will delijjht myself in thy statutes, I will 
not forget thy word." Ps. 119: 15, 16. 



I HAD sweet thoughts of Christ beneath yon tree; 
Beside that crystal brook I talked with God ; 
As o'er yon mountain's craggy height I trod, 
The echoes from the valley seemed to be, 
And the delighted songs of the sweet birds, 
All blessing their Creator. Winds and waterfall 
Spoke forth their eloquent praise, as well as all 
The companies of lambs and lowing herds. 
Sweet is the memory of those blessed days ! 
O, that my life with such were sprinkled o'er ; 
And thus their recollection should restore, 
In my own bosom, love, and hope, and praise. 
Happy the soul, that from the past can borrow 
foretaste ot the land, the land that knows no sorrow. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 223 



Ll\r. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CONFIDENCE IN GOD. 



"Cast not away, therefore, your confidence, which natn 
great recompense of reward ; for ye have need of 
patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye 
might receive the promise." Heb. 10 : 35, 36. 



There is a flower that with the sun doth turn, 
Watching from morn to eve with faithful eye 
The mighty orb, as it doth constant run 
Its course of glory o'er the beaming sky. 
And when the sun at times conceals his face. 
And round his path a night of clouds doth pour, 
Not less that flower his cloudy track will trace, 
And turn, and look, and worship as before. 
Thus doth the Christian to his Father look, 
Still upward, from the morn till eventide; 
And yet he doth not deem himself forsook, 
When shades and clouds the heavenly vision hide. 
Patient he looks, until the light divine, 
Upon his heart once more, his constant heart shall shine. 



224 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



LV. 



I WILL NOT BLAME THY TEARS. 



They, that sow in tears, shall reap in joy. He, that 
goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall 
doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his 
sheaves with him." Ps. 126 : 5, 6. 



I WILL not blame thy tears ! Go forth and weep, 
Poor child of sorrow ! Suddenly the blovv 
Hath pierced the fountain, with infliction deep, 
Whence, in the heart, the bitter waters flow. 
I will not blame thee ! God himself approves 
The tears, which from his wounded people steal. 
Not seldom he afflicts whom most he loves ; 
He made the heart, and fashio.ied it to feel. 
But in thy sorrow, think, oh, think of this, 
That, though thou weepest, thou may'st not complain. 
Each stern, impatient throb at once dismiss, 
Nor let a thought God's providence arraign. 
Yes, shed thy tears, but shed them patiently, 
And thou, in season due, shalt God's salvation see. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. SSS 



LVl. 



THE WRECK. 



'This charge 1 commit unto thee, son Timothy, according 
to the prophecies which went hefore on thee, that thou 
by them mightest war a good warfare, holding faith and 
a good conscieiice, which some having put away, con- 
cerning faith have made shipwreck." 1 Tijni. 1 : 18, 19. 



I SAW a wreck upon the ocean flood. 
How sad and desolate I No man was there , 
No living thing was on it. There it stood ; 
Its sails all gone ; its masts were standing bare ; 
Tossed in the wide, the boundless, howling sea. 
The very sea-birds screamed, and passed it by. 
And as I looked, the ocean seemed to be 
A sign and figure of eternity. 
The wreck an emblem seemed of those, that sail 
Without the pilot Jesus, on its tide. 
Thus thought I, when the final storms prevail, 
Shall rope, and sail, and mast be scattered wide ; 
And they, with helm and anchor lost, be driven, 
In exile sad and long, far from the port of heaven. 



226 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



LVll. 



CHRIST'S INTERCESSION. 



"My little children, these things write I unto you that ye 
sin not ; and if any man sin, we have an Advocate with 
the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." John 2 : 1. 



O, WOULD we enter to the inward light, 
And with the everlasting glory dwell ; 
As doth the eagle, in his steadfast flight. 
Strike upward to the sun's bright citadel ; 
O, would we, ceasing here on earth to roam, 
Nor seeking more its transitory flowers. 
Build in the central blaze another home, 
And thus forever make that glory ours; 
Then upward look to the Eternal Throne ; 
Behold the mighty Intercessor there ; 
He hath the key, that makes it all our own, 
(Unlocking all,) the golden key of prayer. 
In any other way thou shalt not win ; 
'T is Christ, and Christ alone, that lets his people in. 



SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. 227 



LVlll. 

REJOICING IN GOD. 

The Lord is my rock and my fortress, and my deliverer; 
my God, my strength, in whom I will trust ; my 
buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high 
tower." Ps. 18: 2. 

The bird not always mounteth on the wing, 
Nor doth he always his sweet music pour; 
But as he silent on the branch doth swing. 
He ever ready is to sing or soar. 
The music, heard not, lingers on his tongue ; 
His flight is poising, ere it upward rise ; 
Thus shall his sudden harp of joy be strung. 
And thou shalt see him mounting in the skies. 
O, Christian, be it ever thus with thee, 
When sitting here, thou with the earth dost blend; 
Still as we mark thee, let us always see. 
Thou hast a wing just poising to ascend, 
And that the song, which hath no outward voice, 
Still, in the inward soul, tails never to rejoice. 



228 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



LIX. 



THE MARTYRS. 



' But none of these things move me ; neither count I my 
life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course 
with joy, and the ministry, which 1 have received of the 
Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God." 
Acts 20 : 24. 



Farewell, thou pleasant earth and beaming sky! 
Farewell, ye friends, our homes and hearts that blest! 
Now is the time to suffer and to die. 
And pluck from torture everlasting rest. 
Welcome, the persecutor's scoff' and spear! 
Welcome, thrice welcome, agony and flame ! 
There 's that within us, which shall conquer fear, 
And gain the triumph in the Saviour's name. 
Our Father gives ; and shall we spurn the cup ? 
Then let the fiery billows round us roll ; 
'T is well • if, while they burn the body up, 
They touch not, harm not the immortal soul. 
Earth claims its own, when " dust to dust is given ; " 
But claims not, holds not, what was meant for Heaven. 



SONNETS FOK RELIGIOUS IIOtJRS. 229 



LX. 



HEAVEN. 



Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
which, according to his abundant mercy, hath begotten 
us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus 
Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, 
and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved, in 
heaven for you." 1 Peter 1 : 3, 4. 



Too long to higher good and beauty blind, 

I plucked the flowers, upon my path that grew: 

Till, wounded by the thorns, my tortured mind 

Resolves a better country to pursue. 

Land of the Pilgrim's hope and fond desire ! 

The land, where wearied hearts at last may flee ! 

To thee at length my quickened thoughts aspire ; 

Mine eye is turned; my win_gs are plumed for thee. 

And thus I bid, without a tear, farewell 

To all that charmed my sublunary sense ; 

Enough for me, if I may rise and dwell. 

Where joy shall make no work for penitence. 

O, land, where wearied hearts at length may flee! 

Mine eye is turned; my wings are plumed for thee. 
20 



THE SABBATH. 



[These sketches of American Cottage Life would be imperfect, if we 
were to omit all reference to the observance of the Sabbath and its 
beneficial influences on the rural population. Probably in no pai't of 
the world is the Sabbath better observed than in the rural districts of 
our country. It is a day which is dear to our formers and cottagers, 
because it gives them a season of rest from their ordinary labors, and 
because it tends to cultivate and refine the social sentiment ; — and 
especially dear, because, by calling them together in acts of worship, 
it elevates their minds to the contemplation of the high and holy 
objects of religion.] 



It is the time of rest, the Sabbath day, 
That summons from the heart the gentle strain; 
Nor well may those withhold the votive lay, 
Who know the joys, that follow in its train. 
The Sabbath ! What associations cling, 
Holy and high, to that beloved name ! 
It is not mine upon poetic wing 
To soar aloft, and bear it forth to fame ; 
But e'en from one like me a tribute it may claim. 



THE SABBATH. 231 



How pleasantly above the eastern hill 
Its dawning comes ! Its golden light doth rest, 
All undisturbed, on tree, and bank, and rill, 
And laughing creeps into the wild bird's nest. 
The little bird, borne high on dewy wings, 
Renews his song; there is no other sound. 
Save where the bubbling brook in concert sings, 
And lowing ox sends loud his joys around. 
No longer to the yoke in patient labor bound. 



And why should hapless man forever moil, 
Nor rest to body or to soul impart ? 
Six days in seven are long enough for toil, 
The other shines for worship and the heart. 
When God, the Maker, framed the rising earth. 
From night and dull chaotic forms released, 
And singing stars proclaimed its wondrous birth, 
Upon the seventh morn his labor ceased ; 
He sanctified the day to wearied man and beast. 



And when that last, that greater labor came. 
Which saved man's race through Him whobledand died. 
He gave the Sabbath's honor, and its name 
To that blest day, which saw the Crucified, 
Who three days in the silent earth had lain, 
(No longer in his stony walls repressed,) 
Arise forever Victor. Thus again 
In honor of the Son, the loved, the blessed. 
He sanctioned it anew, the day of peace and rest. 



232 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



He gave it to the rich alike and poor ; 
He blessed and hallowed it, till time shall end; 
And bade its light the languid limb restore, 
And come to prisoner and to slave a friend. 
When o'er the hills its signal is displayed, 
Silence shall reign, the city's murmur cease, 
The fervent haste of rural toil be stayed ; 
E'en the tired steer, that knows but little peace, 
Shall claim its sacred hours, and gain a short release. 



This is the honor of its sacred ray ; 
The blessings these, that fly upon its wing; 
Where'er it comes, tired labor hies away, 
And he, who toiled, will sit him down and sing. 
See how the scythe hangs idly on the tree ! 
No sound is heard from yonder noisy mill ; 
The busy maiden's wheel stands silently ; 
The smiting sf)ade hath ceased the earth to till ; 
The plough is in the glebe ; the ringing anvil still. 



It is the day of rest for passion too ; 
Pale DiscoNTKNT no longer clouds his brow : 
Anger, that looked with stern, distorted view, 
Calms his loud voice, and smooths his aspect now. 
E'en Avarice, with firm relentless hold. 
Unclenches his hard grasp and patient sits. 
Nor scrambles here and there for muckle gold. 
As if beset for life or out of wits ; 
And Jealousy no more shakes in his green-eyed fits. 



THE SABBATir. 233 



VIII. 



But there are other visitants ; — for, lo, 
Devotion comes with sweeping length of stole ; 
In her raised eye the sacred fervors glow, 
Disclosing clear her purity of soul. 
Two little children gather at her side ; 
The one, called Penitence, doth hardly dare 
To raise her mourning eye; and with her hair 
She wipes away the tears she would not hide; 
No longer shall her feet in sinful paths abide. 



IX. 



The other child, that held the parent hand, 
With eye iindimmed by shadows or by tears, 
(Her gentle name is Love,) doth smiling stand. 
With glowing heart, that hath no place for fears; 
But peace upon her open brow doth shine, 
And joy is pencilled on her aspect bright. 
Whoever to her presence may incline, 
Will find their sorrows vanish at the sight; 
She doth but speak a word, and fills them with delight 



Peace breathes in all around. The smoke ascends 
From yonder cottage through the silent air; 
Quick with the scene Imagination blends, 
And sees beside the hearth the grandsire there. 
He reads aloud the venerated book. 
His form bent low, his tresses silver gray ; 
And, quickened by his words and serious look, 
The children, mindful of the Sabbath day, 
Bestow the patient ear, and learn the better way. 
20* 



234 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



The Sabbath to the cottager is dear, 
Because it welcomes to the hearth's bright blaze, 
The sons and daughters, who in toil severe 
Fulfil, remote from home, the other days. 
Their home, sweet home, is pleasant in their eyes; 
But they are poor, and work gives honest bread. 
The Sabbath light, that gilds the ruddy skies. 
And sees them g-athered in their humble shed, 
Calls from the parent heart fresh blessings on their head 



The greetings of that morn, how warm, how true! 
" 'T is but a week, and yet it seems so long;" — 
'T is thus the fond complaint their lips renew, 
As round the elder maids the younger throng, 
Or kiss the tears, that fill a brother's eye. 
And all because the Sabbath day is his ; 
The sunlight of the poor man's stormy sky; — 
O, take all other days, but leave him this; 
Nor crush his small remains of hq^&iajiiS happiness.^J><\, 



xiil. 

Nor man alone is blest. The lowing herd, 
That crowd around his door, express their joy ; 
The wild beast of the wood, the mounting bird, 
That high at heaven's gate finds sweet employ. 
Imbibe the chartered mercies of the day. 
No longer by the faithless hook betrayed, 
The spotted trout darts in his wonted play. 
The hare, that nestled in the thickest shade, 
Now leaps across the path, and o'er the sunny gl-^de. 



i^ 







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(D [Kl 



THE SABBATH. 235 



Jt is the day of worship. Where the rill, 
Bright with the sunbeams, gives its soothing sound, 
The church adorns the gently rising hill, 
And flowers spring up, and trees are planted round. 
The villagers, within its sacred wall. 
Are vv^ont upon the Sabbath's hours to meet, 
Upon the great Creator's name to call, 
And pour their homage at the Saviour's feet. 
In supplication's voice, and anthem simply sweet. 



And now it is the customary time. 
When to their rural temple they repair. 
Filled with the thoughts of duty, pure, sublime, 
The Holy Bible in their hands they bear. 
Matrons their little flock prepare to lead ; 
And village maids, in youth's rejoicing bloom, 
And feeble, aged men, the stafl^ that need. 
And childhood gay, with Sabbath frock and plume, 
Churchward their solemn way at wonted hour resume. 

XVI. 

And from the holy place behold him rise, 
God's messenger ; his locks are thin and white ; 
He upward lifts his mildly glancing eyes. 
And supplicates the God of life and light, 
Not with mere lips, but with the spirit's breath; 
For in his mind it is no vulgar prize. 
To pluck the soul from sin, and woe, and death. 
And plant it, starlike, in the spotless skies. 
To shine with quenchless blaze, when man and nature dies 



236 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



He was indeed the shepherd of his fold, 
And sought in body and in soul their good. 
Unbribed to labor by the charms of gold, 
He patient toiled, and strong in virtue stood. 
The sordid ties, that human hearts control, 
The bonds of earth, swayed not his steadfast mind, 
That pointed, like the needle to the pole. 
To Him, who died to rescue human kind ; 
In nothing else did he abiding pleasure find. 

xvui. 

Sometimes his cherished people mourned their dead; 
Perhaps a darling child his head doth bow; 
And bitter are the tears the parents shed. 
As they bend o'er the loved one's pallid brow. 
At that sad hour the constant pastor near 
His sympathy and consolation lends. 
Skilful, he wipes away the mourner's tear. 
And shows that God, in what of ill he sends. 
Though now his ways are dark, some secret good intends. 



His days were days of watchfulness and prayer, 
And, while he trod himself the narrow road, 
He taught the lost to turn their footsteps there, 
And cast away transgression's heavy load. 
And for their help he plead the holy page, 
The promise fair, in words of light displayed, 
That those, who tread the heavenly pilgrimage 
And humbly seek, shall have the needed aid, 
To the Redeemer dear, though oft by sins betrayed. 



THE SABBATH. 237 



Nor was he all unheeded; but his voice, 
As if an angel's joyous lips were nigh, 
Availed to make the trembling heart rejoice ; 
Nor seldom penitence bedewed the eye 
Of those, who long the Saviour set at nought. 
Then was his spirit glad ; peace filled his soul, 
If he availed, by heavenly wisdom taught. 
To lead from sin, and its attendant dole. 
E'en one to better paths and virtue's blest control. 



Yes, there 's a rest, he said, a Sabbath near, 
More pure and holy than we now behold. 
There may we all, in long communion dear, 
Together meet, the shepherd and the fold. 
Peace to his silent dust ! and may he find, 
As o'er that Sabbath clime his feet shall tread, 
The wanderer and the lost, the halt and blind, 
By precept taught and by example led. 
Up to the realms of light, to Christ their blessed head. 



THE COTTAGE MARRIAGE. 



[" And the Lord said, it is not good that man should be alone ; I 
will make an help meet for him." Gen. 2: 18. It would be no 
credit to our yeomanry to say, that they have no capacity for the 
passion of love. Without love there is no foundation for the fimily , 
— and without the family there is no permanent foundation for the 
institutions of the State. History shows, I think, that tlie work of 
civil and political corruption has generally begun with the perversion 
of the domestic constitution. And on the other hand, the patriot may 
always hope well for his country, as long as the sacredness of the 
family is maintained.]' 



1. 

Mysterious marriage ! thou dear tie of hearts ! 
The bond, that linkest the congenial mind I 
The golden cest, not framed by human arts, 
Which God himself around the soul doth bind ! 
How pure, and yet unsearchable thy power! 
The power, ordained, with equal sway, to bless 
United souls, in each successive hour. 
The hour of joy, the season of distress. 
Apart from thee, what house, what rank, has happiness ? 



THE COTTAGE MARRIAGE. 239 



'T is tliine to bless the cottage. And thy sight, 
Where shall it look a higher grace to find, 
Than shines in Jeannie's form and eyes' calm light, 
And in her truth and purity of mind ? 
Born in the woods, but with a heart to love. 
Trained in the hills, her father's cot concealing, 
She found, ('tis found no less in souls above,) 
Her beautiful and riper years revealing 
The instincts of the heart, affection's sacred feeling. 



And who will say, that loving is a crime ? 
If such there be, he, least of all, has claim 
To place or honor in the rural rhyme 
Whicn sheds its beauty over Jeannie's name. 
Not trained in polished arts, (perhaps 'twas well,) 
She knew the art, to milk the cows and spin. 
Her truth, her love, her labors formed the spell. 
More than her flowing hair and blushing skin. 
Which had the gentle power, a kindred heart to win. 



Woman, tne Bible says, was formed from man ; 
Celestial product of his sundered side ; 
And sure, 't was right, (thus Jeannie's reasonings ran,j 
That she should come again and be his bride. 
And yet, her simple, her confiding heart. 
Which first and highest to her God she gave, 
Oft prayed, that he his guidance would impart, 
And interpose, her bridal hand to save 
From all that know him not, and fail his care to crave. 



240 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE, 



'Twas morn. And Jeannie, o'er the fields not far, 
Must either cease to look, or looking, see, 
vVhen scarce had rising day eclipsed the star, 
Young Eobert at his early husbandry. 
She loved him, when she saw him at the plough ; 
She felt that Heaven had deigned her prayer to hear; 
It was his peaceful virtues, his calm brow. 
His hand for labor, and his word sincere, 
And that he worshipped God ; — 't was these that made 
him dear. 



And when at eve " to see her home" he came. 
As from some neighbor's hearth her feet withdrew, 
Her own bright hearth gave out its purest flame. 
And all the house seemed brighter to her view. 
Her father, ripe in years and rural skill. 
Not slowly welcomed one, to whose young ear 
He felt at liberty to speak at will ; 
And Robert did not think it hard to hear, 
With heart so strong in love, and Jeannie seated near. 

VII. 

And yet, in the anxieties of love, 
The painful thought oft rose to Jeannie's heart. 
That he, whose word was law, might not approve, 
And they, who loved, had only met to part. 
But Robert, skilful in a cause so good. 
Had less of fear. And when he went away, 
A tone, a manner, not misunderstood. 
Spoke in her father's words, as if to say. 
That he should come again, -'and make a longer stay." 



THE COTTAGE 3IARRIAGE. 241 



He loved her, and she loved him in return; 
And often thus, — his daily labors o'er, — 
Soon as day's setting fire had ceased to burn, 
He sought and met her at her father's door. 
Her broom, untouched, no longer claims her hand; 
Her wheel has yielded to a higher care. 
And who, that hath the skill to understand 
Love's holy worth and migiity claims, will dare 
To blame the pure young blaze, which two such bosoms 
share ? 



He told his heart to her; she her's to him ; 
Their words were simple as the souls they gave; 
They owned a flame, which never shall grow dim, 
Till Heaven itself shall quench it in the grave. 
'Twas thus they promised; — thus invoked the power, 
Who frowns on plighted hearts that faithless prove. 
That he would mark and bless this sacred hour. 
With strength and truth and wisdom from above. 
The God alone, who gives, should be the guard of love. 



"O happy love! Where love like this is found;" 
Well might the rural bard of Scotland say; — 
When maid and youth, in sacred union bound, 
Tread, with unchanging step, life's rugged way. 
And never know the curse of thoughts that roam. 
The bridal day arrived. With set of sun 
Came maids and matrons to the parent liomp. 
The prayer was said ; — the rites in order done ; — 
And they, who met as two, went forth forever one. 
21 



242 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE 



Happy they weut, with Providence their guide ; 
That Providence, which doeth all things well; 
Which blesses those, who in its paths abide, 
But leaves in sorrow those, who da.e rebel. 
And hence it is, that he, who spurns its will, 
And seeks the mate, that Heaven deigns not to send, 
Shall find his selfish purpose turn to ill, 
And all his hopes in bitter anguish end. 
When at his side he sees, a fixture, not a friend. 



And Jeannie left behind her hearts that feel. 
Who, with their kisses, gave their parting tears ; 
Her sister Sarah took her spinning-wheel. 
As bright in beauty, but more young in years. 
And when around their hearth they came again, 
To read the Bible, and to join in prayer, 
The thoughtful mother oft remembered, when 
Her Jeannie was among them, seated there, 
So heavenly in her song, so serious in her air. 



That song was sung again. In their own cot, 
When dusky evening covered field and fold, 
Jeannie and Robert, happy in their lot. 
Kindled the cheerful blaze, and mutual told 
The skill at home, or toils the fields that tend. 
Though now but one, they do not feel alone; 
But to the power above them they commend 
Their joys and labors ; — praying he would own 
The toils and hopes of those, whose fields in faith are sown. 



THE COTTAGE 5IARRIAGF. 243 



Nor vain their prayer. They '■'found the promise good" 
In blooming fruit and in the ripened grain, 
And sang their song of heartfelt gratitude 
For glittering sun, and dew, and falling rain. 
And round their hearth in after times there grew 
Shoots from the soul itself, of deathless bloom. 
A mother's love, a father's hopes they knew 
Through them doth life its endless march resume, 
Which, trained by faith and prayer, shall stop not at the tomb. 



And such is cottage marriage ! Wouldst thou know, 
Where thou shalt find a good and loving wife ? 
Not to the palace, but the woodlands go, 
And in the cottage seek thine other life ; — 
The Marys, Lucys, Jeannics of the farm. 
And if there 's power in loveliness to please, 
If health and truth and purity can charm. 
Who shall be found as true and fair as these. 
To bring thee bliss in youth, and crown thine age with peace? 



With such to bless thee, there shall never rise, 
Like clouds that darken the fair heavens above, 
The shades of jealousy, the dark surmise. 
To mar the peaceful heaven of rural love. 
And if adversity should e'er befall. 
The time of trial with its frequent tear. 
Which soon or late shall come to thee, to all. 
Who but thy wife thy fainting heart shall cheer. 
And with her patient care, make even sorrovv dear? 



THE OLD HOUSE. 



[One of the painful things of this life, is its frequent and neces- 
sary separations. As a general thing, no one leaves the home of 
his fathers, the place of his early experiences and associations, without 
regret. But this regret is often alleviated by the consideration, that 
he may occasionally i-eturn and renew for a time the pleasures of his 
youth. It becomes, therefore, an exceedingly painful moment, when 
he learns, as is sometimes the case, that the place of his childhood's 
residence, either in consequence of death or misfortune, has passed 
into other hands. From that moment he feels, that one of the strong 
ties, which bound him to earth and its happiness, is sundered.] 



When he, who bore a father's name, his head, 
At nature's bidding- in the dust did lay, 
A mother's presence still its brightness shed 
Around the place of childhood's early day. 
It still was home. At length my mother died. 
Sadly and low repose her ashes cold, 
In peace and silence, near the father's side. 
O, then was snapped affection's link of gold, 
But still we had a home, till the old house was sold. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 245 



There yet was something, where the heart could rest, 
A bond of union, which could keep us one. 
We could not deem, that we were all unblest, 
Until the hour, when the Old House was gone. 
But children now of exile and of grief. 
And wandering far from distant place to place, 
'T will give the troubled heart some small relief, 
The record of that ancient home to trace. 
That image of the heart, wnicn time can ne'er deface. 



And shall I pass along those steps no more ? 
No more the well-known forms and voices greet ? > 
Shall foreign footprints press the oft-trod floor, 
And other hearts around that hearthstone beat ? 
Peace be upon them, whosoe'er they be, 
(Fervent and calm, my saddened spirit prays,) 
Peace be to them, as it hath been to me. 
As pleased they throng around the evening blaze. 
And blessings, well deserved, refresh their coming days. 



O evening hearth ! Capacious didst thou stand, 
With welcome light ; but who, alas, shall tell. 
The thoughts, the hopes, the feelings of the band. 
That gathered round thee, and that loved thee well ? 
There hath the stranger's wondrous tale been said j 
Around that hearth have songs of joy ascended ; 
There too, when woe its bitter cup hath shed. 
Hath sorrowing voice with weeping voices blended. 
But all those scenes are passed, and joy and sorrow ended. 
21* 



246 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



All gone! Not one remains to tell the tale, 
The pleasures, dangers, toils of former years ; 
I look around, but ancient aspects fail. 
And ancient voices reach no more mine ears. 
And yet memorials claim my curious eye. 
That have not lost upon the heart their sway; 
They link me for a time to things gone by; 
'T is the last hour, and time hath no delay; 
I give this parting look, and then am on my way. 



Once more 1 tread the room ; 't was mine alone ; 
By special love and privilege possessed ; 
It held whate'er of wealth I called my own, 
A bed, a chair, a table, and a chest. 
Snug in the chest's apartments safe I stored 
Many small things, the choice of childhood's time, 
The fruits, which autumn gave, a various hoard; 
With pictures, maps, historic tales, and rhyme ; 
Some leaves of Cowper's Task, and Milton's song sublime 

VII. 

Here oft I mused in the reflective hour ; 
(For what is youth without its golden dreams ?) 
E'en then young Fancy, in her early power, 
Revealed the dazzling light of higher themes, 
That brightly came, but perished in their birth. 
Throw up the window ! Let me look around, 
And see once more, how fair my natal earth ! 
The spreading elm still shades the verdant ground ; 
With flowers and shrubs the plains, with woods the hills 
abound. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 247 



O, yes ! The summer flowers are yet in bloom ; 
The summer birds in air and woods are singing; 
The bees are humming in the rirh perfume ; 
And o'er the plains the heavy cart is ring-ing. 
When early morning shone or eve drew near, 
The milkmaid called the cows through yonder lane. 
No more her morning song salutes the ear ; 
Nor to his early work goes forth again 
Tims with his glistening spade, or Dick that drove the wain. 



This is the room, where oft I sat, when day, 
As left the sun the busy haunts of men, 
Gleamed with his parting glow. In slow array 
The mists ascending clothed the distant glen. 
The silver moon, throned in the tranquil west, 
Rejoicing, smiled in her recovered light. 
Thus sat I long, with fancy's forms possessed ; 
And marked the beetle's hum, and watched the flight 
Of dim, mysterious bats, that thronged the early night. 



Here too, at dewy morn, the new-born joys 
Of waking nature claimed my youthful heart ; 
The lowing herd afar; the various voice 
Of hymning birds, that plied their merry art; 
The teamster's call, the ploughboy's whistle shrill; 
While sounding loud, the water's distant roar 
Came intermingled with the clansfins: mill. 
Such were the sights and sounds, now known no more, 
That nascent day could bring, or its decline restore. 



248 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



'T is love, enshrined in memory, that brings 

So vividly lo mind the scenes around ; — 

'T is mighty love, that gilds the humblest things, 

And makes the spot we tread a hallowed ground, 

Though rough with rocks perchance, with woods o'er 

grown. 
0, who, that ever felt its power to cheer, 
And most of all, its early charm hath known, 
Will blame, wh,en ties are rent, its gushing tear, 
And stigmatize the heart, that holds the Old House dear? 



Again the parlor's quiet floor I trace ; 
Its walls, with ancient prints suspended high ; 
Its mantel neat, with flower and branch to grace ; 
The parlor, safe from public scrutiny. 
Here were the scenes and sessions more sedate, 
Which thoughts less light and weightier judgments claim; 
'T was here we loved the hour to celebrate, 
Which heard announced the village pastor's name, 
Or when the friends remote, or Angelina came. 



In fragments oft, and ever old in date. 
On yonder shelf, some well-known books reposed; 
The Pilgrim's Progress, and the Fourfold State, 
And others, nameless now, which yet disclosed 
The truths and hopes of Puritanic lore. 
And near the grandsire sat, with visage sage, 
And spectacles in place; and long would pore 
The serious thought, that stamped the homely page; 
And drop the tear, perchance, for this degenerate age. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 249 



Now pass along. 'T was there the settle rude, 
At weary eve, its form expanded wide ; 
And tall, upright, in yonder angle stood 
The ancient clock, " by long experience tried." 
No more at early morn its prompting sound 
Shall send us forth to duty and to care ; 
No more at eve shall summon us around 
The sober hearth, in pious acts to share. 
'T was in this spot we kneeled ; this was the place of prayer. 



'Twas thus I passed from well-known room to room, 
And scanned the objects, which they gave to light; 
'T is true, the scrutiny possessed its gloom, 
When memory showed them to the inner sight. 
Inscribed with place, with feature, and with name, 
As on that day, which changed my happy lot, 
And called me hence. (Alas, too soon it came.) 
'T was thus I lingering marked each well-known spot; 
Nor kitchen was passed by; nor garret was forgot. 



The garret! and "I name it," placed sublime, 
Above the parlor's pride, the kitchen's mirth; 
The grateful Muse well knoweth, that her rhyme 
Hath in the garret often had its birth. 
What though the noisy mice rush gaily round? 
What though insidious spiders weave their bed ? 
Hath not great Goldsmith there a lodging found? 
And mighty Johnson oft reposed his head. 
When for the sons of song no other couch was spread ? 



250 JiMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. 



Oft have i spent the studious hour retired 
High in the garret. There, with book in hand, 
Perchance, with wild poetic thoughts inspired, 
I bade young Fancy rove o'er sea and land. 
E'en then Imagination, though a child, 
Put forth her little wing, instinct with flame. 
And soared afar to Scotia's mountains wild, 
To clifTs and mounts, that bear the Alpine name. 
Known in the JVluses' song, and consecrate to fame. 



Historians wise, with graphic pen, have traced 
The fortunes, states and mighty nations share; 
[f right we deem, it would not be misplaced, 
If private men and fortunes had their care. 
Each heart, each home, itself a history makes; 
Hath ail the incidents a nation knows : 
And much the sordid soul its bliss mistakes. 
That hath no feeling for their joys and woes : 
Sometimes in prosperous ways, then crushed by heavy 
blows. 

XIX. 

For the last time witti saddened thoughts I tread 
The chamber of the sick, the place of tears ; 
There, under dispensations just but dread. 
Hath bowed the youthful form, the head of years: 
The wonted brightness from the eye hath passed ; 
The burning lip hath shown the bitter pain ; 
There father, mother, sister, breathed their last ; 
And passed, to be no more on earth ao-ain ; 
Thrice was the arrow sped, and thrice our joys were slain. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 251 



O, Memory! The child of faithful love ! 
Enchantress of the soul ! That with thy wand, 
The very stone upon the grave canst move, 
And make the dead before my fancy stand ! 
The living and the dead are present now : 
Once more we meet — and here once more we part. 
He, who hath taken all, will yet allow, 
(Old Time, with spreading wing and pointed dart,) 
This meeting of the soul, this homage of the heart. 

XXI. 

Time is indeed a robber. How he seizes 
The dear companions of our better years : 
Like one that comes and takes whate'er he pleases, 
The old, the young, regardless of our tears. 
Now smites he down the hardy form of man ; 
Now doth the stem of childhood's beauty sever; 
One thing alone remains : 't is all that can : 
All else he smites — but that attacketh never: 
He hath no power o'er love. Love flourishelh forever. 



Thus have I sung. Perchance 't is my last song. 
'T is true, the faithful Muse hath been- my friend. 
But will she still her pensive notes prolong ? 
And shall I bid her still my stens attend ? 
I, who am all unworthy of her care, 
Gray-headed now, and wear}-, growing olil. 
But who hath gained by yielding to despair ? 
I '11 wipe my tears, with half my storv told. 
And take my pilgrim staff, now the Old House is sold. 



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